#but at least it rained a bit so its not so stuffy anymore

[raksh-writes]

I am, so brain-dead right now. I can feel the headache brewing under my skull and no idea what to do with myself. So far, I (almost) finished one of my presentations and did a small bit for a project, but there's so much more left and yet I barely have the energy to do anything but loiter about in my chair while scrolling on tumblr. Even playing Skyrim feels like too much energy I dont have rn, ughh...

[wing-ed-thing]

Mob Wife (Kakuzu x Reader, ft. Hidan) Part IV

Synopsis: The Akatsuki are in emergency mode. Kakuzu leads Hidan to the only place he knows for sure is safe to regroup.

Word Count: 

Warnings/Tags: Violence, Blackmail, Language, Fem!Reader, HouseWife!Reader, Moll!Reader, Attempt at Humor, Ceremonial Drinking of Sake, Traditional Wedding

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Finale

Notes: It’s back. Writing Hidan has got me feeling a certain way rn

It rained on your wedding day: weather fitting for, and not minded by, a criminal and a deserter. As you approached the temple, he tried to tell you many times that you were going to be turned away, but as you spoke to the shrine masters, you were greeted warmly and welcomed. You were young with a warm face that offset Kakuzu’s intimidating exterior. Everyone always loved you right away, a way about you that Kakuzu could never begin to consider replicating. With your open heart, you brought a foreign concept into his world: acceptance. The few priests and priestesses at the temple on the border of the Land of Stone looked upon you kindly, a kindness that you and Kakuzu continued to repay years later. The small village of a few hundred that housed that shrine would never see a shinobi attack. Now, only you continue to repay years later.

You could tell that Kakuzu didn’t like being in the temple in the slightest. He had never been one for religion or structure or ceremonies, so you tried not to laugh the first time you saw him in his montsuki haori hakama. You wondered how much grumbling went into getting Kakuzu in such formal attire with a goofy, lopsided grin. Even as he gazed upon your amused, upturned lips, his infamous temper laid unusually dormant. Kakuzu never thought that he would see his own wedding day. Being the kind of man he was, he never thought that he’d have one. He didn’t think that he deserved it, but for once as you stood in front of him in your shiromuku, all of his jaded thoughts seemed to fade. Of course with you, all doors opened.

Kakuzu knelt next to you at the shrine, ever stoic. He put his hair up before the ceremony and secured it neatly behind his head. You remembered it when it was short. As the priest announced your marriage to the gods, you couldn’t help but glance at Kakuzu out of the corner of your eye. He held himself together better than you imagined he would.

“Well, yes. I am an adult,” he would tell you later.

But at that moment, he received the first sakazuki. The priest's vessel tipped over the small cup two times before pouring. Kakuzu brought the dish up to his lips and took three sips: pointless seeing that neither of you had parents, but traditional nonetheless. You were taught to always honor your ancestors, but you doubted that Kakuzu felt the same. You received your cup and the same sake, taking the same three sips and the ceremony went on. The second sakazuki represented your vow to care for each other. You received a slightly larger cup and once again, you each touched the sake to your lips three times. The third represented fortune and fertility.

The Heavens, the Earth, and the People.

You offered Kakuzu a light smile as you moved to the next part of the ceremony, a gesture to assure him that it was almost over. He would have rolled his eyes in any other setting, but Kakuzu didn’t even have to speak for you to know exactly what he meant. You knew that more than anything, he was happy to be with you. Out of all the things that he had done as a shinobi, he could handle a stuffy ceremony.

“I thought you liked stuffy things,” you teased him later, parts of your robes slung over forearms and shoulders for better mobility as you walked through the gardens. Your hand rested in his as you balanced yourself on some raised, rock ledges. His expression could have easily been mistaken for exasperation as he scoffed, but you knew better. He looked happy. “You’re a shinobi. Now that’s stuffy!”

The priest had you stand and you received a flowering branch to offer to the gods. As you held the sprig in your hand, you glanced at Kakuzu. His eyes met your own and you quietly prayed over your offerings before presenting them together, stem first. You bowed together, the rituals vaguely familiar to you as you performed them.

With the blessings of the gods, you had received your rings. Your thumb ran over the skin of Kakuzu’s hand. They had a familiar gruffness to them and held smooth bumps from old scars. His fingernails were short. You slid the band onto his ring finger. The black suited him. He squeezed the fingers of your other hand. The space behind your eyes stung as you held back tears watching as he placed the ring on your hand.

Neither of you had family, so you thanked the shrine priests and priestesses and enjoyed their hospitality. You took a single picture. It was the same frame that you held in your hands now.

Kakuzu walked out a few hours ago, taking Hidan with him. Your kitchen was, for the most part, wrecked. Your doing. Your tears had since dried up and your trembling was beginning to fade. With a shaky breath, you brought yourself to your feet. You placed the picture face-down on the counter and reached for the broom in the corner. Your heart hurt, but the world continued on. And if the world continued on, so should you.

***

You didn’t want to eat, you didn’t feel hungry, but you stood over the sink anyway biting into whatever you could pull from your fridge. You cleaned up the kitchen to the best of your ability. Trash piled up in neat bins outside: splintered wood, broken plates, and any other particles of dust that you managed to sweep up. You could handle it later. At least the rest of the kitchen was spotless. You glanced down at the thick wedding band that sat in your hand. Twirling it between your fingers, you bit into your bell pepper like an apple. That was the kind of night you were having.

A harsh pounding came from the front door and for a split second you wondered if your husband came back. Ex-husband. You didn’t think so. You kept your eyes on the kitchen window but the pounding continued adamantly. A slight shiver went down the back of your neck. The next farm wasn’t for miles. That was definitely not Kakuzu.

You put down your pepper and rolled out your utensil drawer. Your fingers danced across the kunai strapped to the bottom as you silently hoped that your training hadn’t worn off too horribly. The banging ceased as the doorknob began to rattle. The door swung open and you launched your kunai with immense velocity and precision. It was snatched out of the air.

“Fuck! That hurts like a bitch!”

Hidan stood in the entryway with his hand still held up and wrapped around your weapon. Blood dripped onto your floors as the kunai clattered to the ground. He shook out his palm, now sporting a deep gash. All you could do was stand and blink, wondering why he was there and if Kakuzu was with him. Hidan threw his cloak onto the rack. It slid, hardly staying on as he marched over to you. The door didn’t fit into its frame the same as it did before and there was no sign of Kakuzu.

“Can you patch me up, lady?” He looked around your kitchen for somewhere to sit, but found none. He dripped more onto your floors. You quickly guided his wrist over your sink and looked up at him. Beads of water fell down his face. You didn’t even hear the rain outside.

“What happened?” you asked sternly, your voice cracking a bit with worry. Hidan groaned.

“You fucked up my hand, can you at least fix me? I’m traumatized over here.” You sighed, yanking him forward before turning the running water on over his hand. You held it there for a second as if telling him to keep it there before running off to get your medical kit.

“Hidan, you have to tell me if there is an emergency,” you said as you heaved the box onto the counter from your spare room. You cleaned his palm with soap and disinfectant before applying pressure. While you didn’t have to worry about blood loss with Hidan, you also didn’t want him passing out on your kitchen floor either. That would make one more thing to clean up. “Hidan—” You pulled the gauze extra tight. He didn’t seem to be listening to you. —“Is there an emergency?”

“No, lady, it was just cold as fuck and Kakuzu’s got a stick up his ass that’s worse than usual. But you already know what that’s like.” The atmosphere stood still at the mention of Kakuzu’s name.

You knew that you shouldn’t worry about him. As far as you were concerned, he had just divorced you a few hours ago, and even if he hadn’t, you were certain that he could take care of himself. You apparently didn’t do a great job at masking your worry.

He usually didn’t care about the effect of his words, but as you frowned to yourself, Hidan couldn’t help but consider how sad you looked. He pursed his lips, never one for comforting others. For a split second, he wondered whether or not he should have brought up his partner at all. Two fingers gently bumped the bottom of your chin and you looked up at Hidan.

“Don’t look so down. It doesn’t look good on you.” He hesitated. “He’ll come back.”

You dropped his wrapped hand, not noticing that you’ve been drawing loops around his knuckles with your finger.

“I don’t know. He’s usually pretty certain about things and I can’t dwell on that.” You shook your head, turning the water back on to wash your own hands. “You have to go. I know that you have things to do and my— and Kakuzu won’t like that you’re here.” He pouted as you moved around him. You had blood to clean up.

“But it’s raining…” he pouted, expression falling in your peripheral. “And he’s miserable right now which means I’m miserable. C’mon let me stay, I’m miserable.”

“Hidan.” You turned to him and leaned on the doorway from your kitchen to your small living area. “Your partner doesn’t live here anymore.” You flicked on the entryway light, your bucket in hand. Hidan followed behind you, now taking your spot in the doorframe.

“But that doesn’t mean that I have to leave. You know he’s being stupid, but that doesn’t mean that I need to suffer out in the rain because Kakuzu’s a crotchety, old bastard.” You sighed, resting on the handle of your mop. You shook your head.

“I’m sure by the time you get to town the two of you can find somewhere to stay.”

A silence overtook the house again, full of raging, but unspoken thoughts. You squeezed out the yarns and tended to the floors. It, at the very least, gave you something to do. Hidan’s blood already dried part way and you scrubbed harder, but not before it was snatched out of your grip. Hidan shoved you over to take your place. The backs of your knees hit the armrest of the modest couch that you almost toppled down onto. He took to scrubbing.

“So what happened?” he asked.

“Sorry?” Hidan peered at you with his bright violet irises.

“I’m trying to be nice and ask you about your problems, so you better start chatting before I lose interest.” The mop splashed back into the bucket. “Who else do you get to talk to?” You pursed your lips. You knew that he was biding his time to wait out the rain, but his words weren’t wrong. The hurt still felt fresh and perhaps you were feeling a bit desperate to get it out of your system.

“I’m not sure what happened. I asked, but, well, you know how my… how Kakuzu is.” And you found yourself retelling the entirety of what happened: the argument, the ring, Kakuzu’s misplaced comments about children. You left out the part about the wrecked kitchen. “And then he said something about ‘now letting this happen’ which had to be the last straw for me.”

“Did you want brats?” Hidan had since stopped his cleaning. Surprisingly, he listened intently to your rambling as he propped himself against the wall. You swung your feet back and forth over the side of the couch.

“I never really thought about it before and Kakuzu and I never talked about it, so I don’t know why he brought it up.”

“Because he’s a dumbass who thinks too much. I never know what’s going on in that fucked up head of his. If I had a home to come to like this with a cute little thing in an apron—” Hidan scoffed. —“Fuck the Akatsuki. I wouldn’t be hiding you out here because of some band of losers in capes.” That made you laugh.

“You’re in the Akatsuki,” you giggled and Hidan raised a slender eyebrow.

“So? I’m the best one out of all those guys.”

“The best out of some band of losers?” The corners of Hidan’s lips turned upwards into a brief smile as he rolled his pretty irises.

“Listen, I got my devilish charms going for me which is better than Ragdoll. He looks like a fucking pin cushion.” Your hand came over your mouth as you laughed. Hidan looked down at where you sat, pride swelling in his chest at the prospect of cheering you up. But your face quickly morphed into something sentimental.

“Aw, but he’s a cute pin cushion…” Your bottom lip curled into a pout, but at least you didn’t look quite as sad as before. Hidan leaned a bit forward.

“He’s a little over a hundred-eight centimeters tall and has a big-ass nose.” You let out an amused breath. “I’d hardly consider that ‘cute’.”

“But it’s a cute nose. It’s slender and has that cute little bump in the middle.” Your voice grew quieter. Another silence, the third of Hidan’s visit.

It all felt too confusing for you. Maybe Kakuzu was never that interested in you in the first place. You shook your head then and there, much to Hidan’s confusion. Despite Kakuzu’s attitude towards most everything, you knew that he cared deeply about you. Perhaps he had grown bored. Despite ninja work not being of interest to you, you knew that many found the profession very exciting. You ran many profitable operations in the surrounding area, but more money could be made elsewhere, you knew that much. Your lifespan was nothing compared to Kakuzu’s nearly a century of living. He had done everything in life that he had wanted to do and all you had little to show for your existence.

You kept replaying his words about the time that you had. That you had enough time to do more. But if you really thought about it, you were content living the way you had been. You were happy and for a split second you considered whether or not Kakuzu actually saw himself as worthy of you. You shook your head for the second time. No, if anything, you considered it the other way around. You’d imagine that you would come off as boring and childlike to an immortal.

“That’s a lot of thinking.” Hidan had taken to wandering around the room. You hadn’t noticed. “Fuck thinking. You deserve better than taking care of some place in the middle of nowhere and running numbers on boring-ass shit.” You smiled again to yourself, something else that you didn’t notice.

“I actually like it here,” you mumbled. Hidan yawned.

“Can I stay now?” You deliberated to yourself before grabbing the bucket and the mop away from him. He didn’t do a great job, but you found yourself relatively uncaring at the moment.

“Yes, you can stay,” you sighed. Hidan was already halfway down the hall by the time you finished your sentence.

“Good because I was going to crash here anyway.”

@brokennerdalert @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @krispypotato @meme-queen-1999​

Notes: Reader and Kakuzu had a Shinto wedding if anyone’s interested. 

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[batarella]

3 birds 1 stone - BLUE

From a world once so cruel, that never seemed to have granted them the time enough to be together, it’d never built up into anything more perfect.

WORDS: 7785 WARNINGS: Sexual Content

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | YELLOW

-----

Dick:

It was concerning how at the moment he stepped into the narrow elevator, he wasn’t the least bit surprised at the pile of animal shit at the corner. It wasn’t until the doors closed when he noticed it, or rather his nose did, and he had to clog his nostrils just so he doesn’t pass out on the floor.

“Gar!?” he yelled just as the doors opened. No one was there, save for Raven with a book sitting at the couch. She didn’t glance at him. “Gar, I swear if you took a shit in the elevato-“

“That wasn’t me!”

Gar’s voice came from the kitchen, panting and occupied with something unruly. Then he heard plates falling to the floor, breaking, then there was a whimper. Not one that came from a human.

“Then who was it!?”

His question was soon answered, when a dog, a brown-furred mutt, sprinted out into the living room with a strip of bacon lodged in its teeth. “Gar!”

“I told you!”

Gar came out of the kitchen with a leash that had been ripped. “It wasn’t me!”

“You brought a dog into the tower?!”

“It was hungry!”

The mutt had finished off the bacon and headed straight for Raven’s lap. She gave it a scratch under its ear.

“Not on the couch,” Dick said.

“But Dick-“

“You’re not allowed on the couch either,” he told Gar. The boy murmured something Dick couldn’t hear, and after a second, no longer was he a boy but a green parrot. It squealed against Dick’s ear before it flew to Raven’s book.

“Jesus-“ he rubbed his ear. “I’m not in the mood.”

“SQUAWK-,” the parrot said. “WHAT’S UP WITH YOU?”

Having some coherent answer to that would only cement it as some grueling reminder. Hell, even thinking about it hurts more than the coward’s way out of pretending the past year never even happened. But then again, here he was, back in the Titan’s Tower to escape from the love of his life he could never be with and force himself into this infernal damnation of having forever to get over her. Here. Thousands of miles away. Where he’d only have his thoughts to battle and nothing else.

But all he said was: “Nothing.”

Dick should have told her, at least. Given her that kind of closure instead of his current disappearing act without so much as a note or a text or even a notice memo at the manor’s announcement board, which Alfred insisted with there being eight kids around.

But being away will be good. For her. For him. The first step to moving on. And with that, cutting all ties. Make it hurt less for both of them.

Maybe not all ties. He’ll have to go back to Gotham soon enough. But at least he was trying something. Not like the past five, six, seven years. God, has it really been that long?

She was probably over at Tim’s office, or Jason’s apartment doing whatever. Thinking about it won't do him any good. Doesn’t mean he subconsciously won’t.

It was apparent, and out into full consciousness, when he pulled out his phone and saw her name in five missed calls, with voice messages she’s left behind. A whole lot of minutes of them, too, it seems. She’d called while he was on the plane.

He could listen to them. Hear her voice one last time. Let his mind trail away. God, he was pathetic.

Dick put it up to his ear, his other hand stuffed to his pockets as he went out to the tower’s highest balcony so at least the air wasn’t so stuffy and he wouldn’t choke so much.

He wasn’t even nervous when he heard her speak. “Hey, Dick.”

A plane. A helicopter. Some folks over at the apartment building nearby partying it out. At least he’d have something to look at. He was exhausted, too. It was eight am over at Gotham. Shouldn’t have taken the overnight flight.

“You weren’t at the manor. I tried calling there first. I wanted to see you. Call me when you get this?”

He might. After he listens to the four other messages she’d left behind.

“Hey. I know it’s only been an hour. But please call me.”

Another one.

“Dick, where are you? I hope you didn’t change your phone. or I’ll look stupid leaving all these messages behind, which I’m not about to stop doing. Call me. Please. No one knows where you are but no one’s panicking either. It’s worrying me.”

Next one. From another hour after. He’d been gone a little over ten hours since he left. If Bruce didn’t have a tracker on him, they’d have called the police by now. But he highly doubted Bruce would take the time to announce his little trip to the West Coast to everyone in the house.

“Dick, if this is you ignoring me, you’re doing a hell of a good job at it. Did I do something?”

He heard her huff over the phone. No one else seemed to be around her.

“Please, I just wanna talk. Call me.”

The last one. Sent just four hours ago, which meant she’d been awake at four in the morning.

And, on top of that, the last one was five whole minutes long.

A call to tell her she was dating Tim again? Explaining how there are no hard feelings? Catch a movie sometime? An ass of him to think she’d be that cruel, but he was jetlagged and exhausted and the smell of dog shit still hadn’t left, which could be explained because that mutt had made a home just a few feet away from where he stood.

Dick played the message despite all that. Even if she called to tell him she’s getting married. He’d answer it.

“Dick…”

He could hear the rain, sheets shuffling under her feet.

“I’m sorry…” she said. “I… I probably took too long… I guess, if you’re ignoring me, you still deserve to know. I hope you get this message. I’ll tell you now, I guess. So you won't have to respond if you don’t want to.”

Tears. He could hear her wipe them off her skin.

“I kept you waiting for… I wanna say months but it’s a lot longer than that. Years… God, and I didn’t even see it… I took too long trying to figure this all out for myself, and you just kept waiting for me. No one should be worth waiting for that long.”

He was laughing as if it were one of her god-awful jokes. Funnily enough, it was worth it. Even when it sent him nowhere in the end. All that waiting was worth it. Somehow.

“Which is why I don’t blame you. Because you shouldn’t have taken this long. I thought even if I took another few weeks before I’d have enough courage to finally ask you to be mine, you’d still be there waiting for me. Selfish as it is, but I guess that’s your fault, too. Spoiling me and whatnot. Now my expectations for men are out of hand. Sorry.”

She even fucking laughed all the while he could hear her biting back her sobs. If he were there, he’d hold her by the shoulders and squeeze the fucking sense back into her and tell her yes, I did wait for you, and I’d wait for you for a hundred more years if I had to but I know you love someone else and-

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Backtrack.

What the hell did she just say!?

“I mean, I’m…” she continued, completely ignoring his panic. Was there a rewind on this thing??? “The past two days all I did was read your letter. Over and over again, trying to find something I could have missed. I memorized it by now. I’m a wreck. I’m sorry. I know it’s all so complicated, but I can't stop thinking that if the timing had just been good to us the past few years, all this would have been so different.”

Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT, is she actually saying she-

“I’m so sorry, Dick…” she sighed. “I kept you waiting. But even if… even if you’re not anymore, I already made up my mind. I’ll be here. It’s my turn to wait for you. As long as it takes. I love yo-“

Something hit the back of his knees.

Which, unfortunately, with him not in some defensive stance, caught him in a rather vulnerable position.

And with that, Dick tumbled off his feet, almost fell off the railing, and failed to catch his phone from slipping right off his hands.

“NO!”

“DOWN BOY-SQUAWK!” Gar the parrot cried and followed the obnoxiously unruly dog running around the terrace. “SORRY, DICK!”

The dog kept running around and almost crashed to his feet twice with it being too fast even for Gar's supposedly swift wings, and if he wasn’t so frozen and horrified, watching his phone descend from almost a hundred stories above ground, he would have grabbed that mutt by the neck.

“GAR, I SWEAR TO GOD-“

“I’m sorry!” He turned back into a human and caught the dog. “It was him!”

“My fucking phone just fell over the railing!”

“Want me to go get it-“

A car alarm. He could hear it even from above. Or Gar did. Because he went to look over and caught sight of his phone breaking a car’s windshield below. He scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

“I have to…” Dick pulled on his scalp. “I have to go call her.”

“Call who?!”

“Give me your phone!”

“I don’t have a phone!”

“Give me Raven’s phone!”

“She talks to people with her mind,” Gar twirled his finger against his temple. “She doesn’t need a phone!”

“Just get- UGH!”

He stormed back into the building. “Where the hell is everyone else!?”

“They’re all out of town!”

“So it’s just you and Raven in here?! Without adult supervision!?”

“Why do you think we got a dog into the building?!”

Said dog stuck his tongue out at him like it was just so awfully adorable.

“Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok.” He can do this. He can calm down. “I have to go back. Or call her at least.”

“You’re going back to Gotham now?!”

She said she’ll wait. But to hell with keeping her waiting. “Yes. I do. I’m going back now. As soon as I can call her and tell her I’m on my way-“

“I wouldn’t do that.”

Raven didn’t even look up from her book, legs up on the couch as seemingly relaxed as if the whole wreck of a home they lived in wasn’t a mess at all.

“Next flight to Gotham’s in an hour.” She levitated an apple to her mouth and took a bite. “And the one after that’s in two days.”

“Two days!?”

“Airline shutdown. Some strike is happening,” she pointed at the TV playing the news. “I’d hurry if I were you.”

“God fucking dammit-“

“Good luck.” Raven took another bite.

Of course. Of course, this would fucking happen.

But, fuck, he didn’t know if he should just leap out the window to keep up now that everything he’s ever wished for had finally come to be. Because, to his own beliefs up in the clouds, he could probably fly with just the flap of his measly arms.

Y/N chose him.

He left for the elevator, just before Gar stopped him for leaving his wallet, then he was sprinting his way back to the airport.

.

You:

“I already made up my mind,” you said to your phone as if there were anyone else on the other line. As if he was there, listening to you. And that in a few seconds, he’d respond.

“I’ll be here. It’s my turn to wait for you. As long as it takes. I love you, Dick.”

Quite haunting how easy it was for those words to just roll off your lips, because as much as you thought all this to be so complicated and difficult, it was the easiest thing you’ve ever had to say.

At four am, alone in your studio with all your lights off and your sheets in an unkempt mess. You stuck your knees so close to your chest, trying to conceal at least some kind of warmth against you. But even with it so easy, it didn’t mean it wasn’t hurting.

“I can't,” you stuck your palm to your forehead. “I know things are so hard between us… and this past year is just…”

You breathed, longer than you’d hoped, just to get enough air into your lungs just so you wouldn’t collapse.

“God, I don’t even know what to tell you anymore. It all just… It feels like it’s too late. Everything went so wrong between us and I can't stop but think maybe it’s the world saying we’re just not meant to be,” you swallowed. “And the scary thing is… I don’t even care.”

The blue rose you painted, staring back at you once so bright, but as the passing days of you still wondering if were brave enough to do this at all, it had dried up and was now blank, patronizing even, that maybe it just wasn’t right, even when you wanted it to be.

“I don’t care if it’s so complicated, I want you…”

On the bed, just by your feet, you locked your eyes onto Dick’s beautiful handwriting, some that had been smudged with the sweat from your hands with the paper now crumpled up after all those months of reading and rereading.

You closed your eyes.

“You sent me an awfully painful, heart-breaking letter,” you said. “This is my awfully painful, heart-breaking reply.”

.

‘I usually just say all this in my head. That’s when I get poetic. Sometimes I write it down. Most of the time, I try to paint them. I think of galaxies and meadows and skies and flowers and all that, metaphors as they are, but I’ll say everything I’ve got. Right now. Because you deserve to know that all those years of you thinking nothing could ever go how you wanted, that it could end being just that.

.

Dick:

“Hey.”

Hands on the counter, the attendant looked startled at the least.

“I need a ticket for the next flight to Gotham.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she said, after taking a while to look at Dick’s handsome yet frantically uneasy face. “You just missed it-“

“I know, I know, I missed the last one.” The one that left just five minutes ago because of fucking California traffic. “But I need to get on the next one. Please.”

“All flights from San Francisco after the next hour are canceled I’m afraid.”

“Any connecting flights? Anything that leaves before that?”

“Sir, I-” she stretched her fingers. “I’ll look for something.”

His fingers, tapping onto the counter until the tip of his nails started to hurt.

“The best option’s a connecting flight to Denver, then to New York.”

“New York!?”

“Then there’s the railway transits to Gotham. I can book you a ticket for that, too.”

From a seven-hour flight to a seventeen-hour trip with layovers and a crowded train.

But as soon as he heard best option he pulled out his wallet quicker than when they told him his rent was three months overdue and that if he weren’t to pay the doorman that very instant they’d evict him.

He rushed to the first plane, closed his eyes, and prayed she hadn’t said anything in her voice message too important for him to miss out on.

.

‘The universe, or whatever it is out there that has a say in all this, they didn’t make it easy for us at all. If they did, we would have met long before we went too far into this mess. We were friends, sure, and you have no idea how much I value our friendship.

But I guess not even that friendship’s strong enough for us to deny what’s really going on. And that’s why it’s all so hard. I can't even look at you without thinking about kissing you, or holding you, or touching you. I can't hold your hand without wanting to never pull away. I can't even be in the same room with you and not stare, even when you’re just reading a book or talking to someone else. You are… you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and you’re just as beautiful within, which is why it was so easy to love you, and so hard to keep it in.’

.

You:

Morning. Eleven am at that. You slept before the sun was up, at least. But you were up all night.

Nothing. Not a call, not even a text from him.

Everything shattered, and you were still half asleep. The next thing you did, and the next thing to do, was wrap yourself up with the thickest layer of your blanket and hide in the dark, even with it such a lovely day.

Another message wouldn’t be such a good idea if he still hadn’t opened the last five, which seemed highly unlikely with him gone for almost a day now.

A day. It had been a day.

But nothing on GCPD’s notices reported a missing person’s file of an utterly gorgeous, half-Romani hunk of a man in any of their websites. You called the manor, again. Still, there was nothing.

Twelve at noon. All you had for lunch was a bagel from three nights ago. It stuffed you, at least.

You sat at your dining table and stared at your phone.

If there was a moment for so much love to come crashing at once, it would all have been too great for that to be possible.

But the moment you realized it was there at all,

A few weeks ago. Steph’s birthday.

A party at the manor. It wasn’t much. Just a little get together with everyone at the parlor.

Everyone was talking, laughing, and frankly you wished you’d joined them. It looked like fun.

But instead, you were looking out the window, at the gardens white with melted snow and winds strong enough to knock the leaves out the branches. But you couldn’t hear any of that, which made it peaceful. It was the trees that danced, birds instead of planes that hovered over the sky, not a star above but perhaps it was because it was so full of clouds. It looked cold. Cold always looked so beautiful when you were looking out from the warmth of the inside.

Dick walked up to your side, just a reasonable distance away so he wouldn’t touch your shoulder, but close enough that you’d smell the jasmine from his neck.

“You’re just gonna stand out here and watch the glass fog up?”

You remembered laughing, probably at something else he’d said after that.

“It’s pretty when you look hard enough.”

And all the while, he didn’t pull your arm and drag you over at the crowd. He didn’t tell you to join them, to loosen up and have fun or have a drink or in any way stop you from what you were doing.

He just stood there and joined you, instead. Ditched his family. Didn’t even speak much.

He stood there because he wanted to. Because you staring out the window was more interesting to him than a whole crowd of kids doing whatever.

When he balled up his fist, covered it with his sleeve, and wiped the window right in front of you to rid it from the fog so you could see the gardens clearer, you knew you loved him.

Such a small act that was, but it was the finality of everything else that built up to that moment.

Then, you remembered what you told him last night, in a voice message that lasted way too long and sounded far too painful.

.

‘I don’t regret what I had with Tim… but I do regret not saying anything the past four years when I had the chance. You were there. You were there and I could never have had it any other way. When we’re not trying so hard for everything to be alright, everything’s at its best. I’m not even your girlfriend, and already I think about every minute I spend with you and laugh before I’m off to bed. I think about your jokes way too long than they should ever last. And your smile, god your smile, saying that that it’s all I could ever think about wouldn’t do it any justice. You have drawn out the ugliest laugh out of me that never should have come out of any human in existence. And frankly, I’m glad you do. Because just when I thought I could never smile again, you made me the happiest I could ever be.’

.

Dick:

Of all days. Of all times.

His survival rate at that point, rushing through Denver Airport with just a fifteen-minute layover period, with his shoelaces undone, probably wasn’t one he should have relied on. He was starving, but he had the appetite of a mammal in hibernation with the horrible airplane food costing a hundred dollars and everything else taking too long to prepare.

With just thirty seconds to spare, he fell to his too-narrow coach seat, shuffled along so his large ass-damn this cursed asset-would fit through the aisle and breathed just as the air hissed into the cabin after they closed the service door.

Head against the back of the seat, eyes up the ceiling, at the smoke that blew in through that gap outside the overhead locker, he ignored his dried skin, his dry mouth, his feet that were close to standing on a thousand knife tips, his eyes so close to just shutting out, his wallet painfully thin with this whole trip costing the equivalent of a round trip to Shanghai, and his whole body about to collapse. He hasn’t slept in twenty-four hours. It didn’t look like he was ever going to sleep at all.

And he hasn’t even called. God, what was she doing at home? Is she okay? Is she eating okay? Is she worried about him, staring at her phone wondering what she did wrong when she was nothing less of a perfect creation of all the gods that existed, an angel the earth didn’t deserve?

He really, really had to call.

Someone just sat next to him. A child. And next to him was his mother, who just put down her phone from a call.

“Excuse me.” Dick put on his award-winning smile, pretended he wasn’t sweating his balls off or that he was in any way close to psychological death, and hoped he looked the part as well.

“Yes?”

“Is it okay if I, uh, borrow your phone? I have to make a call. It’s sort of an emergency.”

“The plane’s about to take off.”

“It won't take long. I promise.”

He probably didn’t look as charming as he’d hoped. His hair was a mess not even a bird would settle into. The woman looked at him quizzically, up and down, and shrugged. Like it was handed to him on a silver plater, she gave him her phone.

The aircraft was about to take off. He only had so long.

He called Y/N’s number that he didn’t even know he memorized and settled back. It started ringing.

“MOM!”

The kid beside him. He was tugging on his mother’s shirt.

“MOM, I’M BORED.”

“We’re in a plane,-“

“I’M BORED. I WANNA PLAY ROBLOX-“

“Not now, we’re in a plane. Sit down.”

“GIVE ME YOUR PHONE-“

“That man has my phone.”

Fuck.

Y/N, fucking pick up.

“HEY, GIVE ME MY MOM’S PHONE BACK-“

“Kid, I hear ya. But you have to give me this one-“

“GIVE ME THE PHONE-“

That kid, a chubby one not older than six, stood up from his chair and was wild enough to grab Dick’s hand away from holding the phone up his ear. If he weren’t so desperate, he would have let him have it.

But god almighty, he’s never been as desperate as a starving man in a desert.

“Kid. Just one minute.”

“NO, GIVE ME!”

The mother put on a sleeping mask and faced the other way.

“KID-“

“GIVE ME MY PHONE-“

Back and forth, both grabbing onto the phone and the kid having the strength he did not at all expect, they ended up wrestling it out in the cramped-up economy seats until the kid was screaming out his ears.

He’s never looked so ridiculous but jokes on everyone else if they thought he could care less.

“Excuse me.”

An attendant, bags under her eyes and giving both of them, not just the kid, a dirty look.

“I’m sorry, sir, but the other passengers have complained about the noise. I’m gonna have to ask you to take your seat.”

“NO!” the kid screamed.

“DID YOU JUST BITE ME!?” Dick cried out.

“GIVE ME THE PHONE!”

“I NEED TO CALL SOMEONE!”

Dick grabbed the phone off his hands, palm to the kid’s face to stop him from reaching out to his outstretched arm. “Don’t you have some kind of coloring book you can give him?”

The attendant smiled, albeit forcefully, and walked back over to the back of the cabin. The kid did not stop trying to grab it off Dick’s arm.

She gave the kid a bag that probably had books and crayons and whatever stuffed inside. It looked so old. It had to have been in storage for the past ten years.

But as if some miracle heard him, the kid shut up, took the bag, and settled on his seat. Then he was as quiet as a mouse.

Fucking finally.

He held the phone up his ear and closed his eyes, fingers easing the tension on the nerve on his forehead.

“And sir?”

The attendant smiled at him. It didn’t look so much of a smile as it was a death threat.

“I’m gonna have to ask you to turn off your mobile device.”

To say he wanted to squeeze the life out of everyone in the whole aircraft, including himself, wouldn’t cut it.

And he didn’t even have it in him to protest.

“Hello?”

Her voice. At the other end of the line. That word was all there is to it, the only thing he heard.

Dick sighed, closed his eyes, counted to three, then ended the call after just two seconds.

The next thing he heard, for the next three hours, would be the screams of the child at his side, kicking on his seat like a fucking soccer ball.

.

‘That call from a year ago. The one about Kori. Fuck, I don’t even know where to begin. I overreacted. By a mile. Did some stupid shit to make up for that guilt and masked it over as another heartbreak when really, it was me refusing to have to go through all that again. I had to see you with that woman when I was in love with you for three years. Of course, it hurt. But I shouldn’t have an excuse. It was so stupid. Just thinking about it makes me want to break. I’m so sorry about that, Dick. I know we’ve already been over that months ago, but I just want to clear everything while I still can. God, I don’t even know if you’d listen to all this. I’m rambling. I’m sorry. I put all the blame on you when I had my share of mistakes. A whole lot of them. I’m sorry. I love you. And I’m sorry.’

.

You:

Hung up after two seconds. All you heard on the other end of the line was breathing and huffing, and nothing else. Whoever it was, they’ve been calling the past two minutes, just as you stepped out of the shower. And you almost cracked a rib flying from your bathroom to your kitchen table with just a towel around you, hoping to see his name on the screen. But alas, your luck just wasn’t at its peak.

You put your phone down, still with nothing to do, nothing else you could think of doing, than to just wait on that seat, stare at your phone, and hope Dick hadn’t hurt himself going after some goon alone the night before. Still no missing persons report. Nothing from the rest of the team, either.

Maybe just once more. You could call him. It wouldn’t annoy him too much. It had been hours since the last one.

You called, put the phone up your ear.

No ringing. It went straight to voice mail.

You opened your mouth, thinking you had something to say.

But you didn’t have anything to say. Not anymore. Not after you poured your whole heart out on the last one and now your throat was as dry as your palms were sweating.

You put your phone down, facing away from you, then you sank to your arms, burying your crumbling face away even with no one to see you.

.

‘That’s why I hate myself for not caring if this was difficult. Because I know, somehow, that’s it’s all still gonna be worth it. With you. Just thinking about the things we’d do, you’ve been the light of my life, the one person I look for not just because I need it, but because being with you makes so much of my day, every day that I see you. I look for you in crowds. I turn to your face when I want to look at something pleasant. I stare at doors, constantly hoping you’d be the one to walk in. I seek out for your voice, call you even when I know it’s a bother, find the most ridiculous excuses and the most stupid questions just so I’d have a reason to stand close to you, to have you talking to me, wanting all that everyday. I’ve never met anyone like you, Dick. I’ll never get used to you, and there’s no way in hell that I’d ever get tired of you. And maybe that’s the price to pay with all this being so hard. As complicated as it is, the troubles aren’t half the worth of the happiness it comes with.’

.

Two flights, three within the past thirty hours, jet-lagged far beyond a night’s repair, and his stomach in so many knots that even the bag of peanuts from the plane was too much to digest. And it wasn’t from poisoning or hunger or whatever it was. Everything in a whirlwind, one he can't even track.

He got to New York before it was dark, and he wanted to kiss the floor.

But he wasn’t at Gotham yet. This trip wasn’t over.

And if it weren’t for the half a million people crowded over at the airport, he would have been in Gotham right at that second.

Past the crowd, fumbling and running for whatever life he had left that wasn’t a spirit descended into something infinitely better than this, he made it over to the other side of the terminal, with his pits sweating his shirt off and his legs made of cooked chicken drumsticks and dough.

He got to the railway station, over at the attendant behind the counter.

“Excuse me,” he panted, and just like the one at the San Francisco airport, it startled her. Except now, there was no using his charm or his looks when he looked like he crawled out of a swamp.

“To Gotham,” he said.

“Ticket?”

He reached for his wallet, hands shaking so horribly it was worrying if he hadn’t known it came with his mind being as much of a mess as a wrecked ship from the 1800s.

And all the more did they tremble, down to his sorry knees, when he opened every flap there was on his wallet to find every pocket empty.

No.

No. no. no. no. no.

He searched his pockets. His jacket. His pants. His fucking shoes. If he had a hat he’d probably look into that too.

Nothing. Not a stub. A tiny stub that would have easily been blown by so much as a gust from a fan, let alone running a marathon in three airports in a single day.

“I,” he swallowed. “I seemed to have lost my ticket.”

Yeah. He wasn’t getting out of this one. The attendant looked at him and snarled like the annoyance he was.

“All the trains are sold out. And I’m afraid you can't board the train without a ticket.”

“Ma’am, I really, really, have to get to Gotham-“

“I’m afraid you’re gonna have to step out of the line.”

Like every force in the universe was out to get him.

“Do you have a phone? A payphone at least? I really need to call someone-“

“Sir, please step out of the line.”

“Please, ma’am, there has to be some way you can squeeze me into one of those trains-“

The attendant waved at someone behind him.

Two security guards were at his side before he could even turn around.

“Alright, alright, I’m leaving,” he huffed. “You guys don’t happen to have a phone I could use?”

Both guards ignored him, set him aside against a pillar.

And, with the excruciating exhaustion finally crashing into this one blow to the face, he stuck his back against the column, head up to the ceiling, then fell on his ass.

God, what does he even say to her after this?

If he actually gets to talk to her, that is.

“Final call for boarding!”

That light. One, single light. Or two, if he focused his eyes. The headlights from outside the revolving doors, from a bus that just opened its doors. It was a light, because it had GOTHAM in bold letters pasted onto its windshield.

And a line of people stepping inside. Kids and adults, old people alike.

He sat up from the floor, hungry, tired, and in pain.

But this was all going to be worth it. Every minute of this.

He just knew, that one last push, after this tormenting, inferno of a day, would all come to an end he’d dreamed about since he first laid eyes on her that day at the Wayne Manor’s library.

Dick got in line outside the bus, told the conductor he’d pay when they get inside. And after he did, he had just a quarter in his wallet to spare. No one sat beside him. The others were at the back. The one across was fast asleep. He couldn’t call her.

He’ll just have to hope, that whatever worries she had waiting for him to come up, that she’d forgive him enough for all this to end the way he hoped it would.

Three hours on a bus.

Didn’t even sound like it was remotely a long time.

The moment he took his seat, the bus doors hissed closed, and the air so silent, so did everything else calm.

He’s waited so long.

But he just had to wait for another three hours. In a bus. Then he’ll see her.

He closed his eyes.

.

‘I don’t even know why I rambled so much about all this being so complicated.

Because even if I had to walk up to the sky, I know there’s a galaxy waiting for me at the end. You are worth it. You are worth everything. I’ve never been so obsessed with anyone my whole life. You are, with my whole heart, my greatest love. And you are so beautiful that I never want to look at anything else ever again. And I never thought I’d get know beauty the way I do when I talk to you. You are everything I could ever want. And so much more.

And that pain, that hurt we both had to go through after all those years. That pining and waiting, and the heartbreak just because I was too stupid to understand that it didn’t have to be so hard after all, it doesn’t even matter, when at the end, I get to be with you.

I’d go through all that again if it means I can be with you.

You are the man I’ve dreamt about since I could first dream, and I’m lucky enough to have you in my reality. It’s you I want, Dick.

So I’ll wait for you. As long as I have to.

I love you so much.

Please, for the love of God, call me.’

.

You:

That message.

The longer you stared at your phone, the more you wondered if it was the right thing to do at all.

It was four am. You were tired. And worried.

And it was four am now, a whole day after.

Not a single call.

You’ve done it this time. You tripped at the finish line.

You were selfish enough to keep that man waiting for so long hoping he’d keep going, just as he had been for years.

And now, this is what you get.

You have yourself alone, in your apartment, one you haven’t cleaned in a week, and your heart in the same shatters as it often had been.

Your phone rang. You weren’t so excited to pick it up. Rightfully so when you saw it was just Bruce.

“Hello?” you said, your weight against the table’s surface, also surprised that it hadn’t broken.

“Y/N,” Bruce said. “I heard you were looking for Dick.”

“Mhm?”

“Sorry I haven’t called. Anyways, the last location I can point him to was at the Titans Tower in San Francisco.”

Okay.

You’ve had your heart broken before.

But it wasn’t just that that had broken right then.

Everything else, every bone, every bit of flesh there was, it was this numbing buzz you couldn’t even fight.

“What?”

Just then, someone knocked on your door.

And it wasn’t just a knock. They were pounding against the wood.

The ringing in your ears hadn’t even subsided, and you were breathless, muscles stiff. You just let the pounding go on until you heard Bruce hang up on the other line.

Life didn’t even give you so much as a second to process all that, of what he could be doing there, who he was with.

Your walked to the door, and without looking into the eyehole, you unlatched the lock and opened it.

Some glitch there was if all this were nothing but a simulation.

But it was as if the last five minutes-no-the last two days hadn’t happened at all.

Dick never looked like such a mess.

But, nonetheless, the way you stared at him was as if he was as beautiful as he ever was.

Everything that had broken, the moment you looked into his eyes, had fallen right back into place, into an entity far stronger than any quake could knock it out of.

Dick shut the door behind him.

He grabbed your face.

Then he kissed you. Without words. Without letting so much as a speck of time, however it worked now that it’d stopped, pass and waste away.

.

Dick:

Whatever she told him in that message he never got to hear, everything she ever had to say, the instant he felt her kiss him back, it was like every word flew out of her lips. How she wanted him. How she chose him. How in love she was with the mess of a human being he could be. How all the trials they’d been forced to go through, all the misunderstandings and the fights and the long months of this troubling, awkward place they wanted nothing more than to climb out of. He got all that with the way her lips molded so wanting and harsh, pressed so hard against his dried, chapped pair that have never witnessed anything more beautiful and so awfully perfect.

No more time to be wasted.

Not another second.

He had her. He finally had her.

He got the girl.

Not a chance that he wasted so much as another second.

He pushed her against the wall and the gasp that came out of her wasn’t at all out of pain, but at the sheer desire that had sparked at such impact that only knocked her into the same place he’d long settled in. And he could just feel, how much she wanted so badly to speak, to tell him what was raging in her head that was as much of a mess as his. But they’ll talk. Eventually. After.

All he wanted, right then, was to have her. Love her. Love her. To send her off to some paradise that long surpassed oceans and mirages and heavens that stood on clouds, to culminate that seemingly endless torture into a reward so great, that to say it would have been worth it would be so much an understatement. To play every instrument there was and let the song resonate into her body, and make it last for the rest of his life for so long as he could touch her. All that, he was going to give her tonight. Tonight. Right then and there.

Grabbing her legs up to his hips, her hands pinned to the wall above her head, it was too much of a flash for him to rush into this beautiful thing that shouldn’t be rushed at all. But he couldn’t slow down if it meant that he lives. Even if he died right after, he just couldn’t hold back.

He was pushing himself into her and the sounds that he earned out his lips were more than any songbird could cry out. After just having her against that wall, he finally got the sense to take it to the bed. It was dark. Not a light was on. And it was raining outside the one window she had near the bed and just the streetlight outside was enough to make him see her face. Dick placed her on top of his lap, on which she enjoyed herself to her own pace. Her hips were like waves, the ocean that rocked about, and the stain on his pants that she’d left behind was just as wet as so.

At that moment even she didn’t want to wait and talk any longer.

He took off her clothes, lied back.

Then he hoisted her up so the sweetest part of her body was just hovering over his mouth, her strong, beautiful legs, one of skin and the other of metal, on either sides of his head.

.

You:

You were made of gemstones. You were shimmering.

Of diamonds and rubies and emeralds, of the most precious rocks that could be found on every soil on earth.

Everything. That pain. That darkness. All the troubles and hardships, the disputes and every tear you’ve ever had to shed. Gone. Gone when he drew out this wonderful melody of sensations from his sweet, sweet tongue quivering you to every core. You were rocking, shaking, trembling, barely keeping yourself up. Not long after you screamed, and like the skies heard you it screamed back with a thunderous roar.

Then Dick shed his own clothes and moved inside you, rolling your hips with your two bodies now this one, beautiful entity, like you were holding his hand, just as you did right then, as you both ran through the darkness of a cave that has long haunted you, with creatures and bats and ghosts flying about, just to reach the end that was a light so close and so bright, you chased yourselves, chased that very light.

And once you reached it, that blinding, flashing white light that shone with this painful, glorious sting to every bit of your flesh, to say you found that end would be wrong. It wasn’t an end. It was this continuous, tantalizing aroma that would last a lifetime. It was beauty. You felt beauty. And it was in ripples you couldn’t see. A blur you couldn’t comprehend.

You had so much to tell him and ask him about.

But just as that wonderful night showed you, you had the rest of your life to do just that.

.

Epilogue

Dick:

Life could only ever be so cruel.

But life gives its niceties. Sometimes, to the people so used to it that they take it for granted.

But it’s even more so of a nicety when it’s the people who’ve long deserved it.

Not to say he deserved the world, but it was just that he’d gotten. From a world once so cruel, that never seemed to have granted them the time enough to be together, it’d never built up into anything more perfect.

Watching her from his car’s driver seat, from where he had a perfect view of her looking at the wondrous scenes flash by outside the window. It was even more beautiful, more than ever before, now that he could take just a second off his time from the steering wheel just to kiss her.

Just a little over six months together. Never has there been anything so rewarding in his life. A rainbow, ten of them at least, that filled what was once this depressingly grey sky. He always knew it’d be worth the world. But even he surprised himself.

When they parked the car, got out into this wide, orange field, a farmland just outside of Jersey with a valley at the farthest end, the only thing that battled the brightness of her smile was the sun itself.

“It’s beautiful, Dick.”

Her voice, even more so.

He set up her canvas, all her paint, and her brushes. They found a spot on the grass that was clean enough for them both to sit on. She didn’t use her easel. Instead, they both laid on this plaid red and white sheet over the grassy soil, her using her own knees to hold it up. And Dick sat beside her, watching her as the hours ticked. Without looking away, no longer ashamed when she’d catch him.

Just before the last of the sun had set, he pulled out from his pocket a ring, one with a diamond a shape of a white rose on top.

He got it a week after they got together.

Her face, her lips wide open as she realized what came in front of her, then he asked her to be his. Forever.

She said yes, just as the sun fell.

-----

MASTERLIST | 3 BIRDS 1 STONE MASTERLIST | RED | YELLOW

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[movedto-erodasghosts]

the moment | timothée chalamet

moved blogs - @erodasghosts

practically a spinoff thing for perfidy by @peeterparkr and reading perfidy would help make this better. To read as a stand alone fic, just picture “Tom” as someone y/n used to like but he hurt her.

Description: where we get to see a little bit of y/n’s relationship with timmy

Word count: ~4,600

Warnings: none

A/N: the rain part is heavily inspired by chapter 8 of perfidy where y/n describes when she knew she loved timmy. Also heavily inspired by Nancy’s moodboard of dates with Timmy. I loved writing this so much, I hope you enjoy!

masterlist

---

“Okay, okay,” you rested your hands on the table, “tell the story again?”

Timmy let out a soft chuckle, “Really? Didn’t you save the video?”

“I just… need to hear you say it in person.” You smiled widely, “It’s too cute.”

He couldn’t help but smile with you. Something told him you just wanted to hear the story again just to tease him, no harm to come of it though. He couldn’t blame you, he had even teased himself about it and found it rather silly.

“Alright,” he sighed dramatically. “So, I found this toad the other day, right? And it was missing a leg. So… I watched it for a bit before going back inside and going to bed.”

Timmy was a dramatic story teller, it was rather entertaining. The theatrics of it didn’t always come from the words he used to describe stories but the amount of time he spent telling it. To end it short would only leave people with questions. To draw it out longer would give people more to consider. He made stories last regardless, giving people opportunities for questions and any random thoughts. It seemed to be a way of letting everyone feel more involved so it wasn’t so one sided. He didn’t like to focus on himself too much, he was much too interested in everyone else.

“Oh, that’s it?” You raised a brow, “ It didn’t happen to be two in the morning? And you didn’t happen to cry because the toad was missing a leg?”

“Well,” Timmy pursed his lips as if to consider your words, “now that you mention it… I might’ve been a little tired when I found it, and possibly a small bit upset when I found it was missing a leg.”

“Small bit? Tim, you cried.” You brushed some hair behind your ear, “Like, actually cried. I saved the video!”

Quickly, you pulled out your phone to watch the video of a teary eyed Timotheé. Everything about the video was chaotic, it only made the story better.

“Okay, I— this is so bright— I just found this toad,” he held it to the camera, “I was like, ‘Oh! Neat! A little toad!’ But then, then I picked it up and…” He nearly choked on his words, the camera moving sloppily and never focusing on just one thing. “It only has three legs! Y/n, y/n it only has three legs. Are you seeing this?” He held it to the camera again, “Imagine how much harder traveling must be for him. The poor thing.”

“Do we have to finish watching this?” Timmy was grinning boyishly, “I mean, you’ve already seen it and I lived it.”

You gently hushed him before looking back to your phone screen, “Shh, shh, it’s getting to the best part.”

He gave a melodramatic frown to the toad before looking at the camera again, “I just, hmph… I had to show him to you, I love him so much. Okay, say goodbye to him, wish him the best.” He stroked it with his thumb, showing the camera one last time before setting it down and waving goodbye. “I know you’ll live a good life. I’ll miss you, visit anytime.” The camera turned back to Timmy who now had tears swelling, “Can you believe it? Such a darling boy… I hope he gets to be happy.” With a sniffle, he dried his eyes. “Okay, that’s all… you just had to see him. I’m sorry, it’s late and I’m crying…” he laughed and shook his head. “I hope he lives a happy life… well, goodnight… or morning?”

The video ended with Timmy lazily struggling to stop the recording, his eyes red and his hair a complete mess. You couldn’t help but hold the biggest smile and he did his best to hide behind his curls. His fingers curled into his palm, resting his hand on his chin and elbow on the table. Part of him was slightly embarrassed, only because the video was played in public. He couldn’t care less about the fact that you saw him practically breaking down over a toad, he only cared that strangers heard him breaking down over a toad.

“I think…” you began, “Well, you know how you asked me when I knew I loved you? I think that when I first saw that video… I just, I knew, you know?”

He held back a laugh, “Ah, that’s the moment, hmm?”

“Yes! Absolutely, one thousand times yes! It was just mind blowing,” you exaggerated with your hands. “I had never seen you like that before and, honestly, it just really pushed me to my realization.”

“It’s fair, really. I mean, had you sent a similar video I have no doubts that it would be the moment I knew I loved you.” He took a sip of his tea, keeping his eyes on you.

Timmy was playing along with your game, it was back and forth teasing. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, when had you fallen in love with him? He had asked before but you seemed to avoid the question and he didn’t push. Maybe you hadn’t yet, and that was okay. It did make him worry no matter how much he reminded himself it wasn’t like you would fall in love in the exact same moment as if your lives were a book. But still, at times his mind would wander.

“When was it?” He licked his lips and placed his cup back down.

“Hmm?” You fiddled with your pastry, avoiding eye contact.

He rephrased, “When was it you actually fell in love with me?”

Crumbs fell to your plate, it gave you something else to look at rather than him. He never intended to make you nervous, so he soon regretted ever asking. The thing was, there didn’t seem to be a defining moment yet. There were so many things about Timmy that made you stop and think about how amazing of a person he is. From his gentle words to his grand gestures. You could say that to him, but it didn’t sound real. If you were going to answer him you wanted it to be something more concrete.

Part of him craved an answer. He wanted you to take your time, for your relationship to take its time too. And Timmy wasn’t someone that needed constant validation but he couldn’t help himself at times. He knew you cared for him, that’s what mattered most. Really, he wasn’t sure why he was so insistent about knowing. Well, maybe…

He tried his hardest not to be the jealous type, and normally he wasn’t. He trusted you and the two of you were always able to openly talk about things, but… something about your relationship with Tom made him second guess himself. He couldn’t even figure out why, other than it was painfully obvious that Tom liked you and you couldn’t even see it. The issue was, Timmy knew that the “enemies” thing was an act, even if it was just one sided. He knew that you didn’t like Tom, at least not anymore, but a part of him couldn’t help but wonder if you did.

“I’m sorry,” he interrupted his own thoughts. “You don’t have to answer that.”

You awkwardly kept your eyes on the crumbs now scattered around your plate. If only he knew, and if only you could tell him.

“If you keep doing that you’ll hardly have any left.” He smoothly took the pastry from your hands and bit into it. “Hmm, it’s delicious.”

Letting out a small laugh you straighten your posture, “You’ve got a little filling on you.”

“Oh?” He sat it back on your plate, “Could you get it for me?”

You nodded, sitting on the edge of your chair to get closer. Slowly, you reached across and lightly wiped the filling off with your thumb. Timmy’s smile never seemed to fade away. He was always so warm and gentle, even in the toad video from two in the morning. It was like with him any moment could be put on pause to just sit back and admire it for what it was. With him it was like you could breathe. Like, even if it was temporary, the air around him wasn’t so stuffy and thick, but it was clear.

Your hand seemed to linger, not that he minded. He simply took your hand in his own, pressing a kiss to your palm before resting both of your hands on the table. His thumb faintly skimmed over your knuckles as he watched the wheels turning your head.

He tilted his head slightly, “Something on your mind?”

“I always have something on my mind, you know.” You timidly pulled your hand away to put your phone back in your bag, “We should probably get going so we can beat the rain.”

Tim cleared his throat and began gathering his things. “I wouldn’t mind getting stuck in it, sometimes the rain is nice to just step into.”

His words brought another tender smile to your face. Most people would be canceling the day’s plans because of a chance of rain later that evening, Timmy just pushed through and even hoped the rain may come earlier than planned. You liked the rain too and didn’t mind going out in it from time to time, it was relaxing in ways.

“I’d rather be home when it starts, I think.” You held his hand as you both started your way home.

He nodded, “I can understand that. But, would it be so bad if it started before then? It would be like a movie scene.”

The thought made you grin, he was right. One of the biggest clichés in the book and you nearly forgot. Part of you longed for a movie moment like that, you had them all the time with Timmy though. It was nice, you wouldn’t lie. At the same time, a huge part of you just wanted to smoothly make it home, no movie moment.

“I guess that part of it would be sweet. Almost like a frozen moment in time.” You moved closer to him, “I’d take any chance to be frozen in time with you.”

His lips curled into a smile at your cheesy words before pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Maybe we’ll get the chance again.”

“Hmm, I wish. I’m not exactly dressed for a downpour though, especially not with my camera out,” you held it up.

Timmy took a quick glance, you were right. Your sneakers would be soaked within moments and your jacket wouldn’t keep you warm for long. Timmy wasn’t dressed much better though, having on sneakers as well, and jeans that would easily stick to him when wet. He could stand it though, it wasn’t a bother, and he would gladly help to keep you warm with his own body heat.

He recalled that you loved walks in the rain, no matter how soaking wet you may get. But lately something was off, he could tell. He kept brushing it off, chalking it up to overthinking. Of course you didn’t want to get caught in the rain that day, it would be freezing and your camera could get ruined. Normally, though, you still wouldn’t mind. It was like you were running from something.

“We can put the camera in your purse, it should help keep it dry. As for the rest, well,” he let your hand go before wrapping an arm around your waist, “I’ll help keep you warm as we make our way home.”

You chuckled, leaning into his side. “In that case, I look forward to the rain,” you half joked.

“See?” He smiled, “Simple solutions. I’m glad to be of assistance.”

Once again, he let go of you to give a dramatic bow. You laughed, watching as his hair fell in front of his face. He even tucked one foot behind the other, adding to the drama of it. He did what he could to make the relationship feel the same, to help you find the beauty in small moments like that again rather than pain.

“Ah, thank you for your kindness,” you gently bowed back towards him.

“Of course, of course. Anytime, you know.” He took your hand in his, gently swinging it as you continued the walk.

You walked in silence for a few moments, just taking in the busy sounds from around you. There were fewer people out that day, due to the expected rain, which gave plenty of new picture opportunities. You loved pictures full of life, whether it was crowds of people or a field of flowers. But, you loved pictures that seemed empty, or even more serene in a way, too. Overall, you just enjoyed taking pictures of life. From the most crazy and crowded moments to the most calm and seemingly boring moments.

“Let’s get a picture here really quick?” You stopped at a shop window, gently tugging Timmy’s sleeve to get his attention.

He stepped back and stood beside you, “Of course, it’s a nice opportunity.”

You held the camera up, ready for the picture. Timmy put one hand in his pocket, the other rested on the small of your back. He placed a kiss on the top of your head, freezing there for a moment as you took the picture. Instinctively his eyes shut too, allowing him to easily slip into his thoughts for a moment.

He loved that you took pictures of moments like this, he knew it meant a lot to you. To be able to hold a memory in such a way was incredible and it helped to better remember. It wasn’t just a picture, it was a memory. Even if it was only a memory of going for tea that morning, it was a memory. One he knew that you’d both find yourselves dwelling on.

You both seemed to find such pleasure in the smallest of things. The rain, tea, toads, anything. Unlike Tom, who seemed to have to make everything into some huge attention grabber for it to be even slightly memorable. Timmy couldn’t stand that, it was like it was a show for everyone else. Timmy didn’t need to prove to anyone that he loved you with grand schemes, what mattered to him was the little things that you shared between the two of you.

“Alright, got it,” you smiled.

His eyes opened back up, snapping himself out of his mind. “You’ve gotten a lot of good pictures today.”

“With most of them having you as the subject, I’d agree,” you grinned up at him.

“It’s your talent with photography that makes them so good,” he chuckled.

“Maybe, but you definitely add to it’s perfection.” You kissed his cheek, “Even if I know you cried about a frog at two in the morning.”

“A toad,” he corrected. “And what kind of monster wouldn’t cry about a toad at two in the morning?”

“It’s just a toad,” you began walking again with a small smile on your lips.

“Just a toad?” He joined your side again, “I don’t think so! He was special, not just like any other toad.”

You teased, “You’re actually defending a toad?”

“Maybe I am. You were attacking him.” He played along, lightly nudging your shoulder.

Your hands went into the air in a mock defense, “My greatest apologies for attacking him. I hope I didn’t offend too greatly?”

“Hmm,” he raised a brow and stroked his chin as if he was deeply thinking. “No, nothing you can’t make up for.”

“Make up for? In what way?” You were already grinning as you looked up at him.

His arm made its way back around your waist, his fingers landing on your hip. Your pace slowed a bit, only slightly, as you synced your steps.

“Dance with me when it rains,” he said simply. “It would make up for it a thousand times over.”

You chuckled, “I’d dance with you anytime, Tim.”

He inhaled, holding his breath for a moment before saying, “I know, but I’ll take every chance I get.”

“I would too, plus it’s a simple enough way to pay you back for the frog insult.”

“Toad.”

“Right,” you laughed, “toad.”

He hoped it would rain. Before he simply looked forward to the rain because he was expecting it anyway, now he was waiting for the rain as if he relied on it. He needed the chance to be with you closer, longer. He needed a reason for the day to be memorable for more than just tea. Timmy knew you’d adore that day for the rest of time, even if it ended in this very moment, but it was like he needed to be sure of it.

Lord, he was becoming Tom. Couldn’t the day be lovable enough as it was? It already was. There wasn’t a moment through the day with you where he didn’t seem to have butterflies in his stomach, other than moments like this where he couldn't help but think of Tom.

No. No more Tom. Timmy was still far from Tom. His gestures, like wanting to dance in the rain, was for just the two of you, not anyone else. Tom needed everyone else’s approval, Timmy was only focused about the happiness between the two of you.

“Guess you should get ready to dance,” you spoke up, quickly tucking your camera into your purse.

Timmy glanced at your movements before looking up to the sky, seeing how dark it had suddenly gotten. He couldn’t help but smile as he saw the rain approaching.

“I’ve been waiting for this,” he held both of your hands and pulled you to a wider section of sidewalk.

He wasted no time, beginning to dance with you the moment a raindrop fell. You wouldn’t deny it, even though you were previously dreading the coming rain you were happy it was there now. You had forgotten how much you missed it. You missed that moment in time where it was truly like nothing else mattered. It was just you and Timmy, frozen in your own movie moment.

It was clear that the wheels in his head were finally taking a pause, he too was just enjoying that moment. Normally, Timmy wasn’t one to get lost in his thoughts so frequently. He spoke openly, sharing his thoughts so he could talk through them with someone. You understood, even admired it, but there was a part of you that wanted to hold certain things to yourself. There were some things you wanted to process on your own before even thinking about sharing with anyone else, and there were other things that you just wanted to ignore forever. Timmy knew this and he never wanted to make you feel pressured to talk but he just couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t want to share, to just talk through your pain and memories. But, he respected it.

You wanted to share, truly, but you weren’t even sure where to begin, and, you didn’t even know if you actually could bring yourself to talk. Timmy swore that there were things between you and Tom that were unsettled that you needed to talk about, and maybe he was right, but you couldn’t see it. You felt like you were stuck in a spot that had no way out. It felt like you had no words to share, and, while no one was trying to make you feel that way, you felt pressured to talk. It felt like Timmy deserved more. Like he should have an explanation, like he should get to know his moment, the one where you knew you loved him.

You had no answers to offer anyone though, not even yourself. You didn’t know why people were expecting you to explain so much. Why did people need you to explain why you never liked Tom? Why it didn’t matter if Tom ever liked you or still did-- though you would assure people he didn’t-- because you were over him. Or were you even over that?

Tom was cruel. He was careless, inconsiderate. And, sure, you had a crush on him for a while, but that’s all it was. That’s all it could be. He hurt you, how could you possibly still like him? And, you loved Timmy so none of that even mattered anymore.

Timmy.

You knew you loved him, with or without that defining moment. Maybe this could be it. The rain, his fingers intertwined with yours as you danced and laughed. No, this wasn’t it. It couldn’t be, not when you had let your mind wander so far. So much for staying frozen in the moment.

Still, you danced with him and acted as if you were still focused on only that. His mind may have stopped for a break but it seemed yours had just kept going. He noticed, you were like an open book at times with him. But, you were both deciding to push it aside.

“When was the last time we even got to do this?” You laughed as he dramatically spun you.

He smiled, “Too long, I guess we’ve just been waiting for the rain.”

“I’m glad it’s finally here, even if I’m freezing cold.” You waddled closer to him, wrapping your arms around him and continuing to sway inplace together.

“Hmm,” he rested his chin atop your head and curled his arms around you, “I did say I’d keep you warm.”

You closed your eyes, resting a cheek on his chest and breathing in. The metallic and earthy smell of him brought an instant peace. You could feel and hear his heart beating slowly, calmly. Heat was somehow radiating off of him still, even through his cold and wet clothing. It was nice, just his presence and being was calming and felt nice to be around. It was now that you were really being pulled into the movie moment, your mind now filled with nothing but thoughts of how being around Timmy was like going out after a storm.

It was like walking out, feeling the sun hit your skin as it was slowly beginning to warm everything up again after a downpour. Like inhaling that musty yet sweet smell of the ground as it was soaking up the rain, reclaiming it after it’s fall and working with it to help return to earth. The smell wasn’t just coming from the rain either, it was just how Timmy was, and you couldn’t get enough of it. It was the serenity after the storm that people so rarely talk about.

“Can’t we stay this way forever?” His words were muffled, mixing with the sounds of raindrops seemingly falling harder.

You were still slightly swaying together, earning looks from those rushing by you in a hurry to escape the rain. Neither of you could be bothered by it though, you were in your own world. Admittedly, it probably wasn’t such a good idea to be staying out in the cold rain. The two of you couldn’t care less in the moment, though you’d probably regret it later, because it was like you had only been standing there for a minute, but at the same time it was as if it had been an hour even if it was only about ten minutes.

The rain was coming down harder and harder, preventing you from being able to stay out much longer.

“I think it’s time to stop dancing,” you smiled, looking around for any form of shelter you could find. “Look, that shop has a shade we can use.”

Without hesitation you ran off, ready to get out of the downpour. You hadn’t noticed at first but he hadn’t followed, only a few steps away from where you were both standing just a second before. He was slowly making his way over, not seeming too focused on actually making it though.

“Timmy,” you called out, “what’re you doing? C’mon, it’s too heavy.”

And then you heard, music playing from someone’s balcony. It was gentle and steady, sounding almost like a recording but it was clear that it wasn’t. Timmy’s eyes were locked onto that balcony, right above the shop you were using for coverage. His shoulders were relaxed, his head slightly tilted as he listened. He was too focused on the music to care about how hard the rain was or how cool the air was turning. You were focused on watching him, slightly taken aback by his actions.

“Come see,” he beamed, “it’s so peaceful.”

You were grinning, watching as he smiled ear to ear, being so happy watching them. His gaze went back to them, eyes twinkling in the light shining from their apartment. His curls were dripping, messily scattered about and some sticking to his face. He looked like he was in a state of tranquility, completely free of all the worries he had been dealing with. It was soothing enough on its own just to see him so, it was like he was able to share with you how it made him feel simply through one look.

Taking your camera out, you took a picture of him as he looked up to the balcony, wanting to keep that moment with you forever because that was it. A few weeks ago when Timmy had asked you when you fell in love with him you gave some silly response, too anxious to think about it. He brought it up again earlier that day, and you still couldn’t give an answer. Now the answer was standing right infront of you, finally it was something worthy of sharing, not just something random and laughable.

You put the camera back in your back, quickly joining his side. “It sounds beautiful.”

“Doesn’t it?” He leaned into your shoulder, “The rain just adds to it all.”

“It does,” you agreed, wrapping around his arm. “But, we should go before we get sick.”

Timmy laughed as he slowly pulled himself out of his trance, “That sounds like a good idea.”

With looped arms you began your walk home once more, feeling somewhat more lifted by what had happened. All it took was that one moment, that moment of proof and reassurance. You were reminded of what a kind and gentle person Timmy was, not that you had ever forgotten. He did his best to enjoy life for what it was, cherishing every moment he could no matter how small. You tried your best to do the same but found yourself slipping at times, it was a reminder to enjoy things more. To take that step back and make yourself the main character of a story, even if it was temporary. Timmy helped you to do that.

He loved to see you so relaxed again, free from your mind. You were both too wrapped up in too many what-ifs and were worrying about things that were out of your control. The rain was what you needed, to help pull you back to earth. It was that moment, where he was able to put life on pause and you were able to come back into that serenity.

The awkward tension from the cafe was gone, truly gone, not just shoved aside. Timmy wasn’t craving to know the exact moment you knew you loved him because all that mattered to him was that you did. You didn’t feel like you owe anyone an explanation for anything anymore, whatever you had with Tom was in the past now and you knew Timmy’s moment. It really wasn’t a permanent solution, these feelings, at least the untouched one’s about Tom, would likely arise again. But, at least for that moment, you could go without confronting them.

[merryfortune]

The Monster in the Fruits Basket

hi @ina-bon​ I was your secret santa on the discord

Fandom: Yu-Gi-Oh! VRAINS

Ship: Takeru/Kiku

Word Count: 5,876

Tags: Alternate Universe - Fruits Basket, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Minor or Implied Child Abuse

   “I don’t like it here anymore, Gramps…” Takeru confessed and he stared at his hands whilst thinking about her. Kiku. “It feels like I’m sitting in a lukewarm bath. I’m just getting pruney.”

   His Grandfather regarded him cautiously. Ever with a stern brow and a stern upper lip.

   Takeru swallowed. “I want to go out and fend for myself again for a bit. I’m sick of being here. I want to pursue my passions in judo and other martial arts. When we went camping for those few months last year, it was the best time of my life. I feel antsy and dull in comparison to living here. With them.”

   “I disagree.” his Grandfather said. “I think you are making excuses.”

   “I’m not!” Takeru snarled, he banged his hand on the table.

   The door slid and Kiku was there, she was holding onto a tray of rice balls and looked jumpy and apologetic. Takeru looked up at her and the grizzle in his face all but vanished when he saw her. His eyes were wide, lit up, and for a moment, a flicker of remorse for having raised his voice.

   “Sorry, this is a bad time. But, when you're ready to come down stairs, there will be rice balls and other refreshments.” Kiku said and she excused herself just as quickly as she had interrupted.

   “I disagree vehemently.” Takeru’s Grandfather insisted, a low growl to his voice.

   Takeru glared. He felt like he was pushing at a wall which wouldn’t budge for it was all bricked up and mortared and more. And when that energy expired, he collapsed over the table, burying his head in the crooks of his overlapping, folded arms. The beads - bone yellow and blood orange - clinked on his wrist and glinted in the fluorescence of his bedroom’s light on the ceiling.

   This was twice now that Takeru’s Grandfather had to see his own, intimate kin wear that bracelet.

   He recalled meeting The Cat as a youth but his youth may as well have been another world with how it changed and collided. He had been playing out in the courtyard with a ball, just bouncing it off every surface available whilst trying not to hit any of the servants or other passerbys until it bounced to the other end. Into what appeared to be a barely open shed. He had crept inside and found a man in a beautiful kimono in a small room but he was caged. He was also holding the handball that he had been playing. They exchanged pleasantries and the man handed back the ball and he left. The man seemed glad to have had a visitor but his visitor was unsettled by the whole exchange, it seemed so ordinarily peculiar.

   He would only later learn that person was The Cat but he would learn it at a wake he unintentionally attended.

   After that Cat died, the next one was born and after that surreal moment, like a dollop of honey on a wooden spoon, in a summer afternoon, playing handball, the next Cat was born to him and his wife. He liked to think that he had done his best to raise the next Cat but life was arbitrary.

   Takeru shouldn’t have been born the Cat but his father died before he even learned he was a father. A freak accident. It could have been anyone. And his mother. His poor mother. She drove herself to madness because of her husband’s death and when her son was born, when she held him in her arms for the first time, still covered in the mire of being born, he did not remain a baby. He grew fur and claws, became a white and ginger kitten.

   It was harrowing for her to say the least and for six years, Takeru never saw his grandparents or even the outside world. He was his mother’s little treasure in every sense of possession. His little hands forever checked for stray hairs and claws. His little wrist was the most delicate of all as she checked that the rosary against all that being inhabited by the spirit and jealous of the Cat entailed. The rituals of it all were ceaseless until one day she didn’t come home from grocery shopping and she still hadn’t even ten years later.

   “I think you should go down and have something to eat.” Takeru’s Grandfather told him.

   “I’m not hungry.” Takeru complained.

   “You should eat regardless, then.” his Grandfather continued. “You will need the strength tonight. There’s a storm.”

   “I’m not some little kid anymore,” Takeru spat, “I’m not afraid of storms.”

   His Grandfather smirked and there was a clash of thunder. Takeru stiffened to the last hair on the back of his neck.

   “Then this discussion is over. Until further notice, I want you to stay here, in this lukewarm bath as you called it. If you run away, I will make sure she brings you back.” his Grandfather said.

   Takeru lifted his head off the table and his arms, he quirked his brow, “She? Whose she? At least do it yourself, you lazy old fart.” Takeru growled.

   His Grandfather ignored him. Gracefully, he got to his feet and Takeru scrambled to join him, a flurry of limbs until he straightened up. They left Takeru’s room and came down stairs to where everyone was. The atmosphere decidedly terse.

   Everyone was clustered around the long, low table in the centre of the room, trying to avoid the windows as they banged and rattled. At the moment, it was more the wind than the rain itself which had everyone on edge - assuming it was the weather at all which had made them uncomfortable, and not whatever they had overheard from upstairs between Takeru and his Grandfather. 

   Still, Kiku sat on her knees and she already had two plates at the ready as she hailed down Takeru and his Grandfather. Takeru readily sat down next to her as she piled one rice balls onto his plate before sliding it towards him with a smile. Takeru’s grandfather observed her, still standing up, awkwardly hovering close to Shoichi and Jin who were watching similarly twitchy.

   “See? No chives since I know you don’t like chives.” Kiku piped up. “Oh, and these ones are tuna-mayo since those are your favourite but this one’s chicken.”

   Takeru smiled. “Thanks, Kiku.” he replied but as he accepted the food, his smile faltered. He was thankful for her but she also represented too much to him but he ate the food to be polite. “It’s good.”

   “I’m glad to hear it.” Kiku smiled.

   With Takeru eating, it could be argued that the atmosphere was easing up from its irrational tenseness. Even Ryoken, who was sitting in the corner, like the mouse that he was, had unhooked his arms from around him and had reached for more of Kiku’s rice balls. She encouraged Ryoken to take more but saying that prickled Takeru, so he grabbed another - one which didn’t appear flecked with chives - and wolfed it down all but immediately.

   He didn’t spare a moment to savour it as he swallowed. He was just thankful for the food. It somehow felt that dinner was so long ago but it wasn’t really. The argument that he had had with his Grandfather had simply exacerbated that distance but the rice balls were good. Kiku was a good - no, great - cook. From the moment that she had arrived at this hodgepodge house for the exiles of the Main Kogami manor, Kiku had been charming all of those around her.

   Takeru kind of wished he had been there. That moment when she had all but turned up out of the blue and introduced herself to her so-called neighbours; enchanting Shoichi with not only her etiquette but her knowledge of the Chinese Zodiac. His little painted models had been fatefully sitting out in the sun and she had mentioned it to him, talked about how adorable they were but it was a set of twelve rather than thirteen and she was the biggest fan of the Cat from the story. She didn’t want him to be lonely.

   But Takeru was the Cat and he wanted to be lonely because bad things happened to those around him when he was anything but lonely.

   Yet, since meeting Kiku, Takeru had felt a slight change in him. A transformation different to how he became the Cat and how he became… nevermind that. Kiku was the reason that his fingers were pruning in this lukewarm bath. She treated him with a kindness that he wasn’t used to. Telling him he had a plum on his back and that she wanted to learn things about him, from him, going so far as to do her own research on subjects that he liked such as martial arts. She was dense and happy-go-lucky but her laugh was like nectar.  He liked it best when she was smiling, with her golden eyes all lit up like the sun.

   Soon enough, Takeru had eaten more than the lion’s share of the rice balls that Kiku had prepared, disgruntling Ryoken in the process but having seen his grandson eat so vigorously, Takeru’s Grandfather was pleased. Yes, there was a tentative serenity to sitting around, having a snack after dinner. There was even laughter and Shoichi, who was standing around, watching, hoping Jin wouldn’t come down from his nap at an inopportune time because it seemed like now was the time to strike. Just when there was a lull in the group.

   “Takeru,” his grandfather interrupted the teenagers at the low table, “I want to go outside. To spar.”

   “Huh? What?” Takeru half-growled, raising an eyebrow at the absurdity of such a demand. “It’s pouring outside.”

   “I think it could be fun,” Shoichi piped up, voice suspiciously airy, “and its not pouring, just… spitting.”

   Everyone glanced out the door on that. Opened just enough to let a breeze in because the days had grown humid and stuffy thanks to the spring showers. And it was dark out there but not with thick storm clouds. Just with twilight settling down in the puddles.

   “Ooh, you could show me that left hook that you’ve been working on, pretty please?” Kiku emphasised, taking the bait that Shoichi had set out. “You’re always talking about what a great judo master your grandfather is, I want to see this in action.”

   “It would be nice.” Takeru said, embarrassedly thinking about how he had been hankering to do just that for the past day since his Grandfather had come around to visit.

   “Good.” Ryoken piped up. “I’ll look forward to seeing an old man kick your ass.” Yet despite his stoking remarks, he seemed dubious of this sudden exhibition match between Takeru and his grandfather. 

   “Oh, shut up.” Takeru snarled but in a more playful way than usual.

   “Should we wake Jin up?” Kiku asked, looking towards Shoichi. “It sounds exciting, he should come down.”

   Shoichi waved her off. “Him getting enough rest is more important, besides, his sport of choice is soccer. Not martial arts, I doubt he’d be interested.”

   “Yeah, that’s true…” Kiku agreed.

   With that settled, despite a strange crackling feeling in the air which wasn’t lightning about to strike, everyone got up and shuffled outdoors. Going from the cool air conditioning indoors, just behind a sliver of glass, to getting out into the soggy grass of the front yard was disconcerting. It was humid - sticky and all encompassing - and getting dark. Storm clouds brewed and despite the subtle strangeness of it all, Takeru and his Grandfather took position in front of their crowd.

   Kiku stood with Shoichi who stood with Ryoken who stood by himself, out the front, just by the window. Kiku clasped onto her hands, cooing, as she watched how Takeru and his Grandfather eyed each other down. It was heated and fiery, without words, as they stared, readying their stances, and then pouncing. 

   They all gasped as Takeru was entirely outclassed by his grandfather. Takeru couldn’t let a single strike on his grandfather; he seemed so strangely clumsy compared to his grandfather who avoided him with ease. The nimbleness that Kiku, and even Ryoken, associated with Takeru seemed so slow as his grandfather blocked and parried his decisive movements. 

   “Appalling.” his Grandfather scolded him.

   Takeru gritted his teeth as he tried to force a landing on his Grandfather but he was stopped entirely. His Grandfather took his forearm and grabbed him. It was a reversal of all Takeru’s raw strength funnelled into his own upheaval. Takeru landed with a thud on his back on the ground. Kiku grimaced as she knew she would be the one to do the laundry later.

   “Is that it?” Shoichi asked. He scratched his goatee in thought.

   Takeru’s Grandfather sank to Takeru’s level. “You’re short-sighted, boy.” he said.

   “You don’t say?” Takeru sassed him. “Better get new glasses, I’ve been on the wrong prescription for years then.” He wasn’t even wearing his glasses tonight; they had been annoying him.

   His Grandfather rolled his eyes at him. “You need help. To get better at your practice, you need a more holistic and unafraid approach. One more balanced than brute strength. And I’m going to show you how.”

   Takeru’s eyes widened as he had the ghost of a question on his tongue, “What…?” he barely managed to eek out of his mouth as he had a terrible realisation of just how helpless he was in this position. His grandfather took his hand and Takeru watched as the bracelet around his wrist, supported and protected, was removed.

   It felt as though time slowed for Takeru as he tried to get up, tried to get the bracelet back, tried to resist every inch of what was happening to him.

   Shoichi stood, gawking, and guilty. He was acting strange but he couldn’t look away. Completely unlike Ryoken who shut down with what was happening. He looked away, eyes closed tight, and Kiku noticed how he flinched. She had an exclamation or a gasp just beyond her lips but she could only focus on Takeru as he ripped himself from the ground and how his Grandfather let the bracelet drop into the mud. A transformation completely unlike anything Kiku had seen occurred.

   When Kiku had first arrived at this house, it had been one accident after another which led into a spiral of female on male contact. Nothing serious. Just hugs and even something as simple as brushing up against Shoichi and then Ryoken and then Takeru had caused the curse upon them to activate. It was silly and kind of funny in hindsight as the pretty looking young men around turned into a dog, a mouse, and a cat respectively. It had been strange but light-hearted.

   This, what was happening now, was strange and anything but light-hearted. It was monstrous. 

   There was genuine fear and horror in Takeru’s eyes as he tried to get up but his body disobeyed him as he transformed. A transformation that was jagged and unshielded by the mist usually produced by the curse. This was raw and grotesque. A stench emanating through the yard, from Takeru, as his muscles burst and his bones broke, reshaping, until he was anything but human. Or even like an animal.

   Ryoken refused to look towards Takeru’s general direction; he had a hand clamped over his mouth and he was gagging. Shoichi was transfixed the same way one became transfixed around disasters like car wrecks. He was pale but stern. Kiku. Kiku was somehow both. Her stomach knotted as she recoiled visibly because of the smell and the sights; she wanted to look away, to alleviate the strange and horrible feeling in her gut, but she was unable to.

   Takeru became a creature the likes of which Kiku had never seen.

   His proportions were all wrong. On all fours and with a long tail but his appendages were stooped in ways that looked broken. His fingers were elongated and his bones were sharp beneath the taut skin of a sickly orange. And his muzzle was jagged with huge, gleaming eyes that were predatory and afraid.

   His Grandfather rose to his full height and he observed cooly as Takeru launched himself from the ground in shame. In fear.

   “Ta...keru-kun?” Kiku murmured. She blinked. 

   The sound of Takeru’s claws scraping through mud, through tile, through tree branches - wherever he landed in his fleeing leaps and bounds - echoed through the air. It began to rain but the rain barely softened the horrid sounds: the crunching and the breaking. 

   “That is the other form of the Cat Spirit,” Takeru’s Grandfather began to explain to the dumbfounded Kiku, “does it disgust you?”

   Kiku was silent but she leaned forward slightly with a horrified stare and a slackened jaw.

   “Does it scare you?” he asked.

   Kiku was silent but she was no longer still. She was propelled forward on something like instinct. She kept her head up and she passed by the bracelet in the mud as she kept going forward, as uneven and rock as her steps were. Where she ignored it, Takeru’s Grandfather picked it up and said his prayers for his grandson on it: not praying to any deity, just a girl whom he, and many others affected and involved with curse, had high hopes for.

   Kiku ran into the forest. Chasing after Takeru or what had become of him in this other form. She had no idea. She had no idea that the burden of his Curse ran so deep but it certainly explained some things. In the dark, she was blind to everything but she kept going forward, trying to find Takeru, unfettered even as she fell over and tripped. As she knew she had no idea what she was getting into. The instinct she was acting on was the kindness that she had been taught and she valued so dearly.

   She had to keep going, she thought to herself, before bile spiked suddenly in the back of her throat. She got up, on her hands, but she felt her whole body weaken and she threw up in front of herself. She wretched quickly, fouled by the taste and the quickness of how it had come from nowhere but it stopped her altogether.

   Confusion was thick and rotten all around her. Kiku didn’t know what to do, what would be right and what would be wrong, that was the truth of the matter as she tried to grapple with what she had seen. The sight of Kyo’s transformation was not something that Kiku would forget soon; the botched way his arms bent and the way his eyes gleamed. Recalling them was more than enough to elicit fear from her, making her skin prickle and her stomach squirm again. But, even so, with tears in her eyes and on unsteady legs, Kiku got up. She clutched onto a tree for leverage as she got up. She kept going.

   The rain felt freezing after being so hot. It was pouring down now with no end in sight. Only misery.

   Takeru sat on his haunches as far away as he could. He pulled up his knees to his chin and buried himself in himself. He clenched his eyes shut and he felt like a child. Beneath the leathery hide of this monstrous form, he felt like a small and vulnerable child again. Between every lash of cold rain, he could swear that he felt his mother’s breath on him, slowly encroaching on him with a cruel and all encompassing embrace, her hands following his limbs along to that bracelet.

   Those memories of his mother raked through him. A growl dribbled out of his mouth in genuine pain of them - and of this transformation. It was anything but painless, it felt like sulphur was in his veins. He hated it and he hated her and he especially hated her love. How it was transfixed on making sure he was protected, insulated, from the big, wide world which would hate him more than she hated him.

   Takeru whimpered to himself, all alone, on a little island in the middle of the flooded pond in the forest. He just wanted the world to collapse in on itself so he didn’t have to deal with it. He thrashed about, causing landslides around him with his claws but the senseless violence did little to quell all that fear and fury in his heart. Growling, he looked up, and he was surprised to see someone on the edge of the trees, on the shoreline of the pond.

   Kiku stood there, wonky and awkward, holding onto herself and a tree. She was looking out across the murky water to him. She tried calling out to him but her voice was too weak. Takeru’s wasn’t.

   He snapped at her, shouting, “Go away!” A monstrous snarl to his voice.

   Kiku didn’t even flinch as Takeru’s voice boomed across the water and through the rain. She just stared with this sympathetic look to her face.

   “Why… Why the hell’re you following me like nothing’s the goddamn matter?!” Takeru growled.

   Kiku tried to call Takeru’s name again but he cut her off with a howl. Her body language drooped. Saddened. And yet she stepped forward, nonetheless. The water was cold and thick around her, even at just her ankles.

   “I said go away.” Takeru growled, his voice frayed at the edges now. “What’s wrong with you…? Are you blind? Can’t you smell…?”

   Kiku kept coming forward. Takeru watched how she waded through the water, how it ate up to her knees now and how she held herself as she approached. 

   “Don’t you hate me? I-I’m creepy and sickening and we both know it.” Takeru whimpered. But then he turned to a roar: “Why can’t you leave me alone?!”

   Kiku slowly set foot on the island that Takeru was on. She felt exhausted. Drenched to the bone, the taste of vomit still on her mouth, to say nothing of the stench that reeked around her so she came to her hands and knees. Still, she crawled closer to Takeru, her eyes wide and huge.

   “I don’t need any of your pity.” Takeru murmured.

   Kiku listened but she kept crawling closer. Mud on her hands and knees, skirt dragging in the mire. She came within a talking distance of Takeru, stood at his paws on the mound, and looked up at him.

   “Please…” he begged her. “Please, don’t do this.”

   “Takeru-kun, but I…” Kiku murmured as she lifted a hand to him with the intention of stroking him so that he might feel some vain semblance of comfort in the downpour and misery. “But I love-”

   Takeru didn’t want to hear it. The way that seemingly simple word tumbled out of her mouth elicited the worst in Takeru. He struck out. He swiped at Kiku, tossing her back as she was nothing but a rag doll before him. Kiku screamed, more from the impact than from the horror of being hurt by her friend.

   “Don’t touch me!” Takeru growled. “Get lost!”

   Kiku was thrown into the water. A huge splash followed after her and then nothing. Just the harsh pitter patter of the rain hitting the coarse surface of the water. There was a moment where Takeru watched, with regret, before Kiku rose up. She broke through, panting and gasping, in the shallows on the bough of the island, fingers scrunching through the mire below her as she roiled with how she had been thrown and near drowned.

   “You’re annoying, I want you gone.” Takeru spat with guilt. “Next time, I’ll hurt you for real. For good…”

   Kiku dithered and her hand drew back. She noticed that the sleeve of her shirt was torn and beneath was fresh, stinging scrapes. She was lucky they were only shallow but they hurt like an acid burn, not just a cut. She clamped her hand over them for searing relief but it was curt. She looked up at Takeru again, her golden eyes looked like umber in the dim rain.

   Takeru turned his back on her. He didn’t want to see her anymore and he didn’t want her to see him, either. He begged and begged that she would turn tail but all, save for the rain, was still. Silent. 

   Then, slowly but surely, with her head hung low, Kiku got up. Water dripped off her in the course of her sluggish movements and she chewed her lower lip. And she made her decision. She turned around and walked off. Her legs like lead as she dragged them through the pond.

   Takeru’s ears, long and ribbon-like, anything but feline or human, twitched. He could hear Kiku leave, the sludge that moved around her, and Takeru’s muscles tightened. He wanted to hurt her so bad that she never forgives him. He had hurt her bad enough that she left - and maybe even left for good - and he wanted that and yet, his heart clenched. He didn’t want her to worry about him and Takeru knew - thought - that lashing out was the best option but… but he wanted to look back and he wanted to see Kiku looking back as well. Even if it was just once before moving on for good because things were too wrecked to be fixed or forgiven.

   Takeru couldn’t take it anymore. He was sick of losing people; he was sick of pity, he was sick of feeling miserable, and most of all, he was sick of having things forced upon him.

   He remembered something his mother said whilst taking his hand, toying with the beads of the bracelet on his wrist, but he couldn’t remember how cruelly she smiled. He remembered her assuring him that no, he was as human as anyone else. It was all just bad magic that this just so happens to happen to him. The fact that he became a child again afterwards was proof that the human was not the monster because the monster was temporary. That was trite but what she said afterwards was worse. She told him that she wasn’t scared at all and that she loved him. What rotten lies.

   She couldn’t have loved him less and she couldn’t have been terrified more. Takeru was revolted with certainty. 

   Every hour of every day, she checked to make sure that abominable bracelet was in place. She would draw the curtains tight and never let him out of her sight. It had been abhorrent but he had been a child. He hadn’t known any better or anything else but now that he did. He didn’t want anything akin to that ever again and he would rage against such sentiments in whatever form that they took before him.

   Even if it was Kiku. Kiku who remembered his dislikes and wanted to engage in his likes and told him that he had a plum on his back. Kiku was, Takeru realised with an alien ease, the first person to recognise him and acknowledge the real him. Completely unlike others who had been in his life before who claimed to love him, like his mother.

   Takeru buried his head in his hands. A guttural growl leaked out of between the crooked gaps of his teeth all wrong for his bizarre maw. He knew how those memories ended. Without closure. With his mother simply disappearing and how distant, faceless relatives told him, without knowing a thing about him, that his mother loved him above all. 

   “Stop it!” Takeru roared, thrashing around, swinging his arms, pounding his fists into the ground below. “I don’t want that kind of love forced on me! I don’t need it...”

   He kept murmuring it over and over. I don’t need it. And at the edge of the shallows, where only her ankles were wet, Kiku did hear him. She stopped and she sucked in a breath. She looked over her shoulders, her eyes that were pooled with hot tears, and she surged forward. A force of nature in her own right, outclassing that of the downpour that continued torrentially over them.

   Water skirted up the side of her as she ran back through the mire. She slipped and tripped, here and there, but was undeterred. She flung herself onto Takeru. He flinched as he felt her embrace the long spike of his bowed elbow. She buried her face in his grotesque skin. His head bent around with a snarl but Takeru couldn’t bring himself to say something as Kiku hid herself using his limb.

   “Let’s go home…” Kiku murmured. “We have to go home.” She reefed her face off him, holding him tighter, her cheeks were flushed as she insisted with the utmost determination, “We have to go home together.”

   Takeru blinked and he felt his heart waver.

   “O-Otherwise, I have a feeling, Takeru-kun won’t come back home - to that house - ever again.” Kiku said.

   She took a sharp breath and she could swear she could hear the front entranceway door of Shoichi’s place slam shut. She cringed. She just knew that Takeru was on the other side of that slam and she didn’t want him to be.

   “Stop. Let go.” Takeru growled.

   “No!” Kiku shouted, holding him tighter.

   “Don’t you get it?!” Takeru snarled.

   “No!” Kiku yelled. “No, I don’t get it.”

   “Let go of me!” Takeru howled.

   Takeru pulled back his arm. His head reared back, maw snapping, teeth glinting, and he hoped to forcibly rip Kiku off him but as he flailed about, Kiku held on. Her legs lolled about, straightly, as she held on for dear life to his arm. She whimpered, afraid, but trying to be brave. He slammed her into the ground, belly first and the blow winded her. She sputtered in the aftermath and Takeru glared. Fierce and vermillion. 

   Still face planted, Kiku mumbled, “I’m scared…”

   Takeru’s ears pricked up. He had almost missed it but he heard her. Her tiny little voice rife with terror. And despite that terror, Kiku began to get up. Her hands trembled but she still tried to hold onto the monster that was Takeru for anchorage. 

   “R-Right now, even though… even though I hear your voice, it doesn’t sound like you.” Kiku murmured. She shook as she got to her knees, still too weak to properly face Takeru. “Y-You’re in a form I’ve never seen before a-and it scares me.”

  Takeru stared. His lips were pulled back in an uncertain and feral way, and Kiku embraced him through it. Gladdened that he had stilled.

   “But I want to… I want to understand you now.” Kiku said. “Just like you listen to me when I’m discouraged,” she thought of how they had studied together after that big test had wiped them both out and how their marks improved together afterwards, she thought of how Takeru, and Ryoken, had gone to collect her from her grandfather’s house after the renovations and how it felt so wrong until she had seen him again, and finally she thought of New Years, sitting on the rooftop with him, making wishes on the stars and the skylines, “I want you to tell me when you are scared or hurting, or when you’re feeling weak, and let me worry about you! B-Because I want to keep living together with you.”

   Takeru examined Kiku through the lens of his slit eye. She trembled, soaked with water and mud, and she looked pathetic. But she was being honest. His heart fluttered somewhere within the arcane structure of this body’s form.

   “I want to eat with you, study with you, and worry about you… All those things, I want to continue to live with you.” Kiku sobbed as she embraced Takeru’s malformed arm. Her tears dripped down her face, mingled with the raindrops.

   Kiku trembled as she held onto him, a bawl in the back of her throat. Her words, though quiet, managed to silence the world. The clouds above were grey and Takeru stilled with shock as he listened to her impassioned pleading. And there was a change, almost imperceptible but Kiku felt it. She looked up.

   Takeru, naked as the day he was born, stood on his own two legs and he spoke not facing her, “It would have been fine if she didn’t love me at all…”

   Kiku was slow as she clutched onto Takeru’s lithe arm, he was wet with the slick of the rain. Kiku felt a little bit confused but elated too, with relief, as she looked at him, unacknowledged. Tears pooled in her eyes but she wasn’t crying, even if the muscles of her throat felt soggy and thick.

   “Or if she was scared of me…” Takeru continued, almost aimlessly but there was a shine to his voice, as though he were having a divine revelation about his relationships with others. “Being scared would have meant that she was seeing the ugly part of me. But Mom used to love to avoid looking at me. She avoided thinking about it - and I think she avoided thinking about the ugly parts of Dad, too, or maybe I was just the straw that broke her back…” Takeru began to sink, he sat down and Kiku joined him on her knees, still clutching onto him because she wanted him to feel some comfort in her fingertips. “But I wanted her to think it through with me, to worry with me. I wanted to tell her all the painful things but I never could.” His eyes began to water, his lilac-grey irises were glassy. “I wanted to live in the present with her.”

   Kiku reached out and cupped Takeru’s face. He was finally able to look at her. Her hair had become untied and was in waves and clumps of cobalt black. Her golden eyes were huge with concern and worry, edged with lingering tears. 

   Takeru swallowed a lump in his throat. He had always thought… He had always thought nobody would want to say those things to him, with him. See him as a monster and see him as a cat and seeing him as him as well. Takeru’s heart trembled and his head throbbed. He began to slump forward, into Kiku’s arms. 

   For a second, Kiku thought she was going to be kissed but then Takeru hugged her. One arm cupping her back and the other taking her hand as his body, weak and wracked with exhaustion, all but crashed into her. He nuzzled his face against Kiku’s, he heard a tiny gasp and then a little, thank goodness, under her breath. And in that goodness, Takeru felt a sublime peace that he had never truly known until this moment right here in the mud and mire. 

   “Kiku…” he whispered to her, grateful. He felt her flowing tears on his bare skin.

   The sky began to lighten. Clouds began to part for a feeble but kind sunshine that illuminated the drear of it all and Kiku held Takeru in her arms. He slept, a calico cat, white and ginger, in her arms and he dreamed softly, of dark nightmares melting back to sweet dreams as he was taken home by Kiku.

[babysizedfics]

Back at it again with a couple more HC prompts, which imma just dump in one, and you can pick which ones you want. Puddles with the kiddos, family baking sessions when both are regressed, Ro wanting attention whilst Logan is reading, so climbing all over his book, how their reactions to new stuffies differ, regressed versus non-regressed birthdays.... Etc... 👍

okokokokok buckle up everyone

Puddles:

this is the only one where i have to be like .. i don't think so :0 see virgil can get very nervous when it rains because he's so anxious about 'is it gonna storm? will there be thunder? will we be hit by lightning? will there be a flood? what if one of us slips and hurts our head??' that he just cannot relax enough to be able to jump around in puddles because 'WHAT IF I SLIP IM GONNA DIE' and the wetness on his skin sets off the wrong sensory feelings so jumping in muddy puddles is a no for him (as much as he loves peppa pig)

and roman is a fussy little thing, he may not care as much for his appearance when he's small but i think he will still be conscious enough to notice if he gets wet hair and muddy clothes - plus i feel like roman's mood is quite tied to the weather, on dark days he tends to fee a little more gloomy, ao again not sure about this especially if he wouldn't have his baby brother there with him

Baking:

OH BOY so roman is a great cook okay? like chef level he has honed his skills so that he can make romantic meals for handsome princes, but baking? nu uh, too technical, he ain't got time for that. Patton is the baker of the house and makes cookies and cupcakes way too often for Logan's liking (but secretly he loves them of course, he's just concerned for everybody's teeths) but both CGs will cook dinner when the boys are little

When the boys are regressed they're not allowed much in the kitchen anymore. after roman tried to make breakfast in bed for his CGs and started a very small but very real fire he has lost some kitchen rights (ficlet coming to you at some point perhaps) and is not allowed in the kitchen without at least one CG. even if he can switch so quickly between headspaces, he ends up either 1) too stubborn to come out of little space, or 2) a kittle bit clumsy when he comes out of it

but to make up for roman being upset by this slight loss of independence (he is a big kid after all) patton and he do weekly baking sessions! and there's always a theme. most recently they had animal crossing themed cupcakes, a little mermaid themed jello (not technically baking but roman wanted to but little fish gummies in the jelly), and... the next one is a secret because i might put it in chapter 7 (: in fact chapter 7 will feature the first instance of this tradition!!

virgil has pyrophobia (fear of fire) and so is never keen to be in the kitchen while there's food preparation going on (but he was allowed to help with the under the sea jello!!) so roman and pattons baking sessions are an excuse for mama and baby bonding time! the tradition didn't start until after virgil's separation anxiety from patton had eased up a little so luckily there's barely any tears

mama baby bonding time consists of but is not limited to: sitting on mama's lap, doing puzzles together, (vee trying to suck on a puzzle piece and crying when he's told not to), mama reading baby books to vee, vee touching all the textures and flaps in the baby books, snuggles

Ro wanting attention while Lo is reading:

this is 1000% canon!! later in the series logan will often be at work in his room and have the boys with him because patton is busy with something or another. they realise they really do need to keep working for thomas' sake but manage to integrate the boys' littlespaces into it. Eg. logan dangling baby plastic keys from one hand to amuse girgil while he's typing with the other

but when it's quiet time, when patton is in virgil's room because the baby is having a nap and papa wants to watch over him, when roman hasn't been little because he's been working or simply not in the mood earlier that day, when logan is just chilling, just reading a stephen hawking book in the living room, when he's literally just vibing, roman can and will launch himself into logan's lap sending the book flying and logan isn't allowed to tell him off because 'I'm little now! i want attention now!! hi mom!!!!'

New stuffies:

AHHHHHHHHH this this this is so so cute!!

roman never used to care much for soft toys before okay? before he was ever a little sure he appreciated disney action figures (he used them to block out scenes he wrote for theatre productions and screenplays and fanfiction) sure he always had a soft spot for Mrs Fluffybottom his childhood toy, but she always just sat on a shelf, he never fet the need to cuddle her or play with her

but when he realises he's little, when he starts playing with vee, when he sees how much vee cares about his soft animals, when patton and logan buy him a present to welcome him to the littlespace family and it's a golden teddy bear (soon to be named Aladdin) with big brown beady eyes and a satin crimson bow around its neck? yeah big kids love stuffies too

and now whenever roman is gifted a new toy (soft or otherwise) he essentially gets the zoomies!!! his brain is going a million miles a minute with all the game possibilities and with the excitement of NEW PRESENT!!! and with the happiness that his caregivers thought about him and he's been a good enough boy to deserve gifts?? yeah he's so so so excited he canNOT stand still he runs around the house for a whole hour flinging his new toy around (yeah he's a bit rough with them and there's been more than one torn limp or loose eye but he doesn't care it just shows how much they're loved!)

Now virgil: this boy is very very very emotionally attached to his stuffies. when he was a "dark side" he couldn't have much soft stuff because it just went against everything the household stood for and he couldn't risk the others finding out about how not-scary he really was, but he allowed himself a single stuffed rabbit that was easy to hide and that he loved with all of his being. it was his security blanket and his one item that could offer him comfort in a oanic attack and his only posession that he felt was true to him and not true to the scary facade he put up to scare thomas and the "light sides" into listening to him

without spoiling anything, that bunny was left in that house when he moved to the "light sides"

and in his new home virgil started collecting soft toys whenever he needed comfort. everytime he felt unwanted, every time he had an anxiety attack, everytime there was a thunderstorm predicted for the next week he would get himself a new soft toy because that was the only way he knew to comfort himself. needless to say he's got a pretty big collection now. you might think he became desensitized to new toys because of how many times he had gotten himself a new one, and you might be partly right.

that is until for the first time ever he is given a stuffie by someone else... when logan buys him a soft toy in apology for accidentally revealing his regression to everyone ((yes i am writing this fic!))

it wasn't really logan's fault, virgil should have been more aware he should have been more careful he should have hidden it all better but the logical side was guilt-ridden nonetheless. virgil hadn't expected much to be honest, the sincere apology was enough for him

but when logan blushed and shyly opened a box and handed him a black cat stuffie? virgil had to fight very very hard not to outright sob on the spot. he simply took it, thanked logan shakily, and prayed that logan didn't point out the fact that tears were falling onto the fluff of his new stuffed friend Jiji

now whenever he gets a new toy it's different than before - it's not because he's upset and needs comfort, it happens less often now but it's more special, it could be for a holiday or as a way of saying he's been very sweet or just because patton simply couldn't resist this one because look at its cute lil eyes! but each and everytime he knows when he is handed a new toy by one of his family members it really means 'i love you'

and he buries his face in its softness - it used to be to hide his tears, but now he just can't help but squeeze it tight and close and let the feeling of love wash over him

Birthdays:

yknow that episode of steven universe where steven wears a regal cape and a golden crown? yeah that's roman whether he's little or not

seriously this kid is very much the 'it's my birthweek!' type

lots of singing, lots of 'but i'm the birthday boy!!' to try to get thtings he really shouldn't be getting (like a third cookie) (and yes patton caves every single time) (patton is eventually banned from making decisions on romans behalf during his "birthweek")

there's not much difference at all between little romans birthday and big romans birthday, he's just an excitable boy whether he's a kiddo or not - this may or may not make the caregivers question whether maybe he actually was a little before virgil's regression was revealed

(irrelevant but patton definitely makes the pun 'you're a little? a little what? finish your sentences silly billy!')

virgil hates his birthday. hates it.

too much attention, too many things that could go wrong, too much pressure on it being a good day. what if his anxiety is bad that day? what if he doesn't want everyone watching him open presents? what if he's genuinely terrified that people think walking towards him with a big grin, singing at him, and carrying a cakeful of literal fire is a somehow a fun activity??

when he first moved into the house he made it very clear that he does not have a birthday so don't even try to throw him a party

naturally roman and patton were devastated, but after a failed attempt at getting virgil to enjoy his birthday they obeyed logan's request that they not try to push the idea on virgil any further

but the first birthday after they become a little family, it's a bit different

they don't push it, not at first, but virgil does wake up to patton already in his room and cooing at him adoringly , immediately sending him into his regressed headspace

then he's given a new soft toy. that wasn't so bad

then roman let him choose what disney film they watched. that wasnt bad either

then logan cuddled him for an hour and they might have fallen asleep together not noticing the smell of vanilla coming from the kitchen

then there was a new paci, a new rattle, another new soft toy, and cake cut up into tiny squares so he could nibble on it with his fingers

there was no loud singing no big surprises no bright lights or fire or anything else that he hated about birthdays

there was only love and toys and comfort. so virgil really didn't mind birthdays much after that

[tamyrawilliams]

@frank-hauptman wants to map the jungle from the water’s side and Tamyra accompanies him. They talk about attunements, the jungle changes and then some shit happens. Frank’s drowning trauma comes to the surface.

"So what are we looking for exactly?" Tamyra asked once the boat was well into the ocean, now just slowly drifting along the jungle shoreline. It was a struggle to find the boat that was stationed by the Western Cove just in case somebody wanted to fish there instead of going all the way back to the other beaches, but they managed it and now they were out in the water, one eye of Tamyra constantly on Frank to make sure he would not actually fall into the water. "Hidden monsters behind the trees, more ghosts, or something completely different?"

________

Frank doesn't bother bringing a map with him. What use is it with the sea spraying on their faces? Only a few minutes in, bobbing on the waves, and his shirt grows damp and his shoes wet. “I haven’t checked the shoreline since summer time, I’m trying to keep an eye on how the water is impacting the beaches. Boring, yes, but useful in the long run.” Strictly speaking, he doesn’t need to do today; it’s January, and the rain proves more hindrance than help.  “I certainly hope all the ghosts are gone, but warn me if you spot one? I’m checking whether the terrain is changing any. Does the whole island change, or just the jungle, I wonder?”

________

Tamyra was glad Frank said that it was boring, at least she didn't have to say it herself. She was more careful with these stuff these days, still a bit worried about their peace, but it also felt nice to just sit in the boat and spend some quiet time, away from everyone. She can just focus on looking for anything out of the ordinary while Frank focused on the rock stuff. "I hope I won't see any, I had enough of them already, but will do. Did you ever see visible changes in the island before on one of these trips?" She leaned against the edge of the boat, splashing the water with her fingers are she watched the trees. "Did you ever try to feel the changes with your powers? Or would this distance and the water make it impossible to do so?"

________

Frank scans the beaches, a thoughtful look on his face. "Once I saw a chunk of a cliff missing. You can see it... that way, I believe?" South of the Leander, towards the cliffs jutting out in the distance to mark the western side of the island. "I hope you don't see a ghost either. The island doesn't have a psychiatrist still, I assume," he comments dryly. It's hard to tell if the waves protest the joke about their mistress or the woman herself does, but a strong wave hits the boat, sending them rocking and spraying him with water. Frank pushes his hair away from his face, snorting. "Ah, I haven't tried. It feels numb though, maybe it is too far?" He squints in the distance, trying to tug on a strand of his attunement, but a beat later sighs. "Nothing. At least we know you'll be the one carrying the team whenever we get off this island."

________

Tamyra followed Frank's direction, but to her it all looked the same. She could recognize changes in the jag because she spent a lot of time roaming it while she was alone, but these parts of the island? Parts of a cliff missing? That was way past the type of stuff she paid attention to, still she diligently nodded along to Frank's description as if she recognized it instantly. She let out a snort at his joke, rolling her eyes, that turned into a laugh when just at the right time there's a bigger wave that spays him. "Even the water doesn't think that was funny, that's something," she teased him gently. She remained quiet while he tried to connect to the earth and feel any of his powers, hoping it would work in this distance at least, but alas, maybe Frank and all the earth attuned needed actual earth beneath their feet. "Is it weird? Not feeling that connection anymore? Does it scare you?" She couldn't imagine not feeling the water around herself anymore, even if just unconsciously, in the back of her mind.

________

Frank swipes a hand through the water, splashing her in silent retort to her laughter, a smile playing around his lips. "You mean that wasn't planned?" he asks with a laugh, leaning back in the boat as another wave knocks against it. If he topples into the water, it's over for him unless Tamyra can pull a rescue from her bikini. He doesn't doubt her - just doubts even she can bend the sea to her whims. He considers her question, frowning, dragging a hand down his face as he thinks about the feeling. "Not scary, but definitely weird. It's like I've got a head cold actually, like when everything feels stuffy and unusual," he explains after a lengthy pause, dragging his gaze from her to the horizon.

And blinks, staring at the gulf they'd found themselves in with the cove on side and the southern beach on the other. "The current is strong today, we'll have to be careful. I don't remember us being this close to the cove," he admits, peering over the edge of the water and into the sandy depths below. Shallow, so they must be along the reef still. "Have you been out this far before?"

________

Tamyra just grinned at Frank, flicking a bit of the water back in his direction and then leaving her hand in the water. The waves were harsher now and she had to grab onto the side of the boat when one bad one hit them, but they were fine - it a was a weird doality, her fingers in the water enjoying the way the water moved around her hands, while her head knew that if things got worse, they'd have to turn around because she didn't want to fish Frank out of the ocean. "Head cold..." she mused. "It sounds strange. It even feels strange to think about it. Not feeling the water anymore. Wonder if it would be like that for good if we got out of here." A head cold for the rest of her life was not the best prospect, but she'd be out of here at least.

She could see Frank's expression changing and something happening, and when she looked back up over to the jungle, she realized they shifted so far off from where they originally were and that got her to sit up properly. "We definitely weren't this close, yet. Want to to try to navigate us back towards the jungle line?" She shook her head at his question, "Not really, this isn't the direction I usually move towards. Not--" but she couldn't finish her sentence because another hard wave crashed against them, rocking the boat even harder and Tamyra automatically reached over and grabbed Frank's arm to make sure he wouldn't fall off. "We need to be careful-- you need to be careful."

________

"Is that not how it feels to you?" Once Frank reaches solid ground, the strangeness is usually gone. "I hope this isn't a permanent feeling. I can't imagine not having it and yet I've lived longer without it." It's best, perhaps, if they find a way out of here before it becomes more second nature. If it's too late for him, for Josephine then. He dips an oar - more thick stick carved into a rudimentary paddle - into the water to change their direction. "I can try," he says, dubious, and to answer his question, the sea gives an awful lurch. Her hand on his arm is the only thing keeping his thoughts from shifting to something else. Something more like a sail boat in the Boston harbor.  "I will. I will," he says, more firmly, a hand moving to grip the sides of the boat.

The oar hangs over the water, waiting for the jostling waves to halt before he resumes attempting to steer them. "It really doesn't want us--" A forceful wave hits the little boat. Water splashes over the sides, and against his face. Another hits. The little boat spins from the force, and the oar flies from his hands, disappearing in the turbulent waters. For an awful second, he can't see, the water in his eyes and whipping against his face. The little boat rocks, near tipping with each wave.

________

"I never really felt completely cut off from water," Tamyra admitted. "The ocean is so vast and always seems close in some way, while other times just beckoning me when I'm not near it. And if I'm really far away, I usually take several bottles of water with me to make sure I don't get dehydrated, so even then some bit of water is with me, you know?" Feeling completely cut off from it? The thought suddenly scared her to death. Not that it was an option, at least not right now while they were sitting in a tiny boat surrounded by the ocean.

The ocean that was relentless and tossing them around as if they were just rag dolls. Tamyra kept holding onto Frank with one hand and the side of the boat with another, even though it felt to matter less and less. In a split second decision, Tamyra let go of the side of the boat and pushed her hand back into the water and focused hard, trying to calm the water around them at least, just enough that they could keep afloat and not tip over. "Can you row like this? I can try to keep the water at bay, but I can't push the boat to the shore just with my water magic."

________

Frank holds onto the side of the boat, grimacing, as the oceans tries to heave them up and over. If it's a response to their chatter about it, he doesn't understand the motive. "The sea clearly wants us to be a little more in awe of it than we are," he says, shifting carefully in the boat and dipping the remaining oar in the water, sliding through the water in one direction and then lift to do it into the other. "I got this, just..." Hold tight, he wants to say, but there's no more room for her to hold onto the boat than there is for him. With less effort into thinking and more into rowing, their little boat rocks its way to the shore. The current fights them along the way, pushing them further and further in the other direction. It's a futile fight. "We need to go with the current, I can't get us back to shore. Where's it pushing us? What can we turn into, preferably without smashing the boat and ourselves?"

________

"This is more than just the ocean's response to us joking, Frank," Tamyra muttered as Frank started rowing. Either theycame out here at an extremely bad time, which was possible, or the ocean wanted to get them away from something, stop them from seeing something. Were they not supposed to see the landscape change? Or was it something else? She didn't really have time to mull over these things, though, she had to focus all her energy onto the water and trying to control it even the slightest. The waves crashed relentlessly, though, and it felt like her magic was not able to do anything in this current. "I think it's pushing us towards that rock formation over there," she nodded towards a bunch of rocks towards the shore, but still very much in the deep water. "Doubt we'd want to let it get there." There was another rush of waves, this time pushing them heavy towards said rocks and tilting the boat more than any of the other waves before, and Tamyra cursed, "Shit, shit, shit! Alright, try maneuvering us to the shore instead of the rocks?"

________

Frank swears quietly, digging his oar into the water in an effort to spin the boat towards the shore. Beneath their feet feels less like wood and more like a puddle. "We're almost--" The boat lurches, a wave crashing over the sides and sending them tipping. He gasps, sucking in a large breath, and hits the water with a smack. A sharp coldness pieces him. His lungs protest, and he scrambles to find the surface, unable to tell up from down. Frank surfaces once, waving a hand, struggling to stay afloat. "Tamyra!" It isn't like the last time he ended up in the water, doomed to die; this time, he can't stay afloat. Can't fight it. He sinks again, flailing for the boat or Tamyra or the oar. Anything.

________

They were getting back already, if only they could just hold on a little while longer... but another wave hit them hard and then next thing Tamyra knew, the boat was tipping and they toppled over right into the water. As she fell, something from the corner of Tamyra's eyes flashed. She wasn't sure what it was, if it was just the play of the light or something more, but it came from the direction of the South Beach. She didn't have time to look back, though, or spend more time on it, because  the water swallowed her up whole and she was sinking in the water, trying to get her bearing.

She needed a few moments to find her way up, up, up to the surface and for a moment she forgot that Frank was probably sinking faster than she ever would. It only hit her when she reached the surface and Frank wasn't anywhere. "Shit, shit, shit!" She dunked right back down, looking around desperately to find her friend before it was too late, before he sank too deep and she couldn't see him or his oxygen ran out.

________

Frank can't find the surface. The water yanks him one way, and then shoves him the other. If he were home, he'd stop fighting and let himself float towards the surface. Here he sinks like a stone. If Oswald had it this way, he'd have sunk this way the first time, too.

He wonders how many times the water will drag him under and spit him out. The first time it asked for nothing, but taught him how to look at the world differently. The second had stolen his world. Would the third time ask for his life? No. No, it can't. Josephine, and Rose, and his world are back within reach. He struggles more, desperation and fear warring with the bone deep determination to see them again. Not just once, or twice, but for however long he'd be given.

His eyes snap open, even as the water burns his eyes, searching through the darkness for a sign. Up, down-- there, the light. Frank swims for it, struggling. He fears it's useful until he sees her. His hand shoots out, as if afraid she won't see him in the inky blackness, and catches her wrist. His lungs scream, and his vision is growing darker and darker, but they scramble for the surface. And when he breaks through the waves with a grasp, he can't think of anything other than the sweet relief of breathing, of the brief snatches of sunlight on his face. "I have..." he says between gasps of air, head shooting around in search of their boat, pushing sodden hair from his eyes with little luck. "... never been happier to see you in my life."

________

It felt like the moments were dragging on and Tamyra was wondering just how much time she had left, how much time before Frank ran out of time and oxygen and would start losing his consciousness and fuck, it was so hard to see anything under the water and if she missed Frank, if soemhow she couldn't see him...

there he was. The moment she spot him, she felt herself ten times lighter. But she didn't have time to rest, she needed to get to him before she sank way too deep.

She had better chances under the water thanks to her attunement, she could last longer, but by the time she got to Frank, she could tell that he was struggling really bad and the moment she got to Rose flashed in front of Tamyra's eyes, so close to passing out in the body of the plane all those months ago, in that fateful day. She didn't have a stake in that rescue, she just didn't want to flat out leave Rose behind, but she had so much more riding on this.

Tamyra grabbed him and pulled him up as strongly as she could and swam with them - up, up, up, as fast as she could. Her lungs started to burn when they broke the surface, too, relief finally taking over. "Fuck, you're too heavy," were her first words to him and then a relieved laugh burst out of her. "Please don't fucking do that again. We need to get to the shore before you start sinking again. Just grab onto me, hmm?"

________

Laughter bubbles up, even as Frank coughs. His eyes sting; not from tears, though any longer in the water and he might succumb to that, too. He wipes his face, futile as it is while they bob in the water. "Is the boat gone?" He can't see it, but then, he refuses to look away from the distant shore. His head twists, and he grimaces as he spots it, heading further and further from them without someone to guide it. "We can't chase it, it's already going beyond the reef. If it doesn't crash, it'll..."

A wave smacking against his face interrupts him, but he doesn't need to finish. She knows how angry the sea becomes it they drift to far from the island. Frank nods to the shore instead, and tries not to be the anchor holding Tamyra back as they make an attempt to head for solid land. He strains to find his attunement, wishing it were as simple as dragging the ground to meet him, but it feels far away. Further than when he was in the boat. Panic, he assumes, still curling in his stomach and waiting for a chance. The closer they get to shore, the less panicked he feels. It's only when he starts to feel the first flicker of his attunement that he heaves a heavy sigh. "My attunement is working again, we must be near solid ground."

________

"Yeah, I don't really give a shit about the boat, Frank, the longer you're in the water, the more chances are of you sinking again, which is the last thing either of us want. So no boat hunting, leave it," Tamyra said, holding onto his shoulder and arm, trying to keep him upright. Thankfully, the boat drifted away enough for them to even have a chance of going after it and both of them start swimming towards the shore.

Tamyra normally would have stayed underwater to avoid the waves, but she didn't want to leave Frank to fight it alone, so she fought against it, too. The water was relentless and hard and exhausting, and when Frank finally said he could feel his attunement again, Tamyra breathed out a sigh of relief and pushed on until she could feelt he ground under them. "We're good, we're good, we can walk now." She practically fled the last bits of the beach and then collapsed onto the shallowest bit of water at the edge of the shore to soak some energy back into her body. "Are you alright?"

________

Frank knows they'll make another boat, but he still can't help looking over his shoulder for the one drifting further and further away. Weeks of effort, and little to show for it. As Tamyra guides them to shore, he thinks longingly of the time where sailing for a few moments bore no such risks. But he pushes these thoughts away as they reach solid ground, and instead helps Tamyra up, as she helped him, until they can collapse on the beach with a sigh of relief. "I'm..." And is he okay? Frank runs a hand through his hair, at once weary, his hands shaking as he does. Under the weight of her gaze, he opts for honesty. "It's been a long time since I've thought I was going to die that way. I don't know if I'm okay, but I am alive. This time. I've probably pushed my luck with this. Three times is more luck than most others have in a lifetime."

________

He was alive. That was something. It was everything, really, in this state. Tamyra couldn't even imagine what it felt like for him. She arrived through a plane crash, it was impossible to relive the trauma - the closest she got was the plane crash, but even there she pushed the pain aside and focused on trying to get out instead of the memories. But for Frank who drowned to get here (and so many others), it was a real possibility, and fuck, he got too close to it again. She ungracefully crawled closer to him and gently nudged him. "Do you want to talk about it? I'm here to listen."

________

Cool sand is better than a cold sea. Frank rolls onto his back, everything aching. But there's little relief to having something solid beneath him; the tides tug it away as it does the water. He frowns as she nudges him, head tilting towards her. "I..." And what could he say? Fear is mingled with relief, anger with happiness. And a terrible sadness  stronger than the sea itself.

"Did I ever tell you how I got here?" He asks instead, closing his eyes, chin tilting for any flicker of sunlight through the grey clouds. "It was Fourth of July. Never celebrated it much; I grew up in England and moved to Boston later. But that year, we wanted to celebrate. For Josephine, and what was going to be her history. And then my brother tried to kill me."

________

Tamyra pushed herself up into a sitting position and watched Frank as he battled with himself on whether or not he wanted to talk. "Boating accident, drowning," she replied at his question. She never really thought more of it. Frank didn't talk about it, but that was alright, she didn't really talk about her crash either (unless it was to complain about Mallory, but that had completely different connotations), and they were okay just talking about their lives before the island and what they wanted once they got out of here. So when Frank said his brother wanted to kill him, Tamyra needed a moment to take it all in. "What the fuck?! He did what? Why would he do that? What happened, Frank?"

________

Frank sighs at her question; he's asked himself some of the same things. "I didn't get the chance to ask him, and I didn't think it was something he was capable of doing until he did. Money, I assume. My father is a rich man with pull. Regardless of how little we see eye to eye, I was still his heir." Without his brother here to ask, he has no answers. Maybe someday, when his brother is old, grey, and riddled with regrets, he'll tell someone. They'll have an answer, even if Frank will not. His nose wrinkles. He doesn't intend to say more, but this small leak in the dam proves stronger than his resolve. "We were sailing. I remember a blow to my head, and I remember hitting the water. The rest is... a blur." Head injury, or his memory protecting him, Frank doesn't question it. "If the island didn't pull me in, I'd have died. Drowned, eaten, I don't know. Swimming skill or not, no one is equipped to stay afloat in the middle of nowhere. I'm just grateful Rose and Josephine weren't there. Maybe he wouldn't have done it with them there, or maybe they would be someone else for him to hurt. But now you know."

________

Tamyra listened to Frank retelling the story, trying to make sense of at least as much as he could of what happened and it was horrifying to hear. She knew what people were able to do for money, she's seen some very nasty things in her days, but to Frank... he was good, he was kind and so not the type to fuck anyone over for money. His brother could have probably asked and he would have made anything work. "What an asshole. I am so sorry, Frank." She crawled closer to Frank and wrapped one arm around the man, pulling him close into a hug.

He kept talking, explaining the actual attack and the afterward and Tamyra just let him talk. Once he was done, she pulled back, looking into his eyes. "For once the fucking island did something good. You never should have been attacked, but at least you're still here. And you're with your family again, and with some time, we will figure out a way to get back to the world. I promise, we will make it happen."

________

Saying it without looking at her is easier, but Frank knows the feeling won't last. His mouth is dry, as much from the salt still burning his throat as it is the ache of memories. Her hug startles him, gaze flashing to her and then back to the sky, continuing to talk. As he does, he leans into the touch, because despite the horrible things he's seen, and the horrible things to occur, he agrees with her. If the island did anything good in it's long existence, it's bringing him rather than leaving him to die.

"I believe you," he says quietly. "I just hope we're going to make it back in whole pieces, or a little bit like the person we were before."

But the longer he's here, the more he thinks they won't. It's a worry for another day, though. "But thank you." And he sighs, tapping her hand, a silent thank for everything unspoken.

________

I just hope we're going to make it back in whole pieces, or a little bit like the person we were before. That single sentence alone scared Tamyra more than so many other things on this island. How they would arrive back home, what they would have to sacrifice to get the hell out of here. "We will figure it out," she said instead of voicing her fear, though. Because she was clutching onto hope that it would be alright. Because that hope was the only thing keeping them together.

"Once you're ready, we should head back to the North Beach," she changed the subject. "Hugging Jo after something like this sounds like a good way to feel better, right?" she suggested, knowing that for Frank, that was probably the best thing that could possibly happen after a scare like this.

________

Frank catches the tone of her voice. He's come to think she's never more certain than when she's most afraid. This feels like one of those times. He feels the same, and he pats her hand in solidarity. Let one fear be echoed and pointedly ignored, it's how they've always done it.

"Good idea," he says quietly, taking a deep breath and forcing himself up. Facing your own mortality has a way of leaving him weary, but there's too much to do for them to sit around. "Let's go back. I think we could use a break from the sea." He turns, holding a hand to help her up. "Best we don't tell anyone about this latest failure. I don't think anyone will trust us with boat building if they know we lost this one," he admits, a rueful smile on his lips.

It takes him a moment to find a more familiar stretch of land, but Frank points out a small grove of trees with a sigh. "Bit of a walk back." It's the thought of Jo driving him onwards, as it always is. Physically here or not, she's the north guiding him home, and it's this thought that makes the first step easy, and next step fast, and the last one before he sees Josephine a small victory. He'll take those where he can get them.

[zippiestdraws]

Choking Curiosity Ch 15

Michael myers x ftm reader

read on ao3

You’ve grown comfortable in his presence, no longer jumping and walking on eggshells with a look of trepidation in your eyes. It makes Michael feel normal. Something inside him is picking a fight with it. Halloween is growing closer, and the energy that comes with it has Michael craving something that you’ve stopped supplying. The entertainment that comes with fear.

Your head has felt stuffy since your evening jog through the rain, but you’ve been doing your best to push through it because you still have shit to do on your day off. You’ve finally made it to the point where your neighbors are putting out fake tombstones and nobody looks twice at the running spray paint marring the front of your house. You don’t have much, but there’s some left over cardboard from boxes that you can cut up and write on so it looks like you have a day of crafting ahead of you.

You haven’t seen Michael since yesterday and it’s starting to piss you off. He’s disappeared like this before, when you weren’t as involved, but now...you can’t help but let your anxiety get the best of you. Both for his sake and the civilians of Haddonfield.

One of your brown cardboard bats flies down the lawn in the wind as you try to tape another around the front door. You turn to drop what’s in your hands and go after it and see a lithe man in a seasonal pullover drop down and snatch it from the ground with his one free hand, look it over, and jog lightly over to return it.

Setting down the tape and walking over to thank him, you see a professional looking camera in his off hand. You thank him as he hands it over, but his grip lingers a little too long on the other end of the cardboard.

“You’re the person who lives in the Myers’ house, right?”

The question catches you off guard, and you’re almost offended. The man pushes up his square glasses and brushes his mop of brown curls back into his beanie.

“Ah- sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Jed Olsen from the Haddonfield times.” He extends his hand expecting a handshake.

“(Y/n),” you say. “And yes, I live here. How did you get my address?” You shake his hand cautiously and out of societal obligation. It feels normal at first, but when you try to withdraw he holds onto it steadfast.

“Hm, Laurie said she’d call to let you know” He hums and finally lets go of your hand. “But as for the address, any man who calls himself a journalist knows the site of the most famous murder in all of Haddonfield!”

You cringe at his words. At least it wasn’t famous enough to garner tourists, only the occasional curious local. Jed’s eyes were bright and energetic, betraying his excitement, so you can only assume he’s one of those true crime fanatics.

“I got the basics from Laurie, but it sounds like you’ve got the main scoop and we’re looking for first hand accounts here. So, whaddya say? Up for an interview?” He pull his camera up and gestures towards you and the house.

It dawns on you that this may not be a great idea. If your name, or the house even, is mentioned in the paper you could be branded as crazy. You aren’t one to dwell on reputation, but you know how people in the tabloids are treated.

“I don’t know, it might come back and bite me if I put my name out there…”

He pouts a little and lowers the camera.

“I don’t write libel, but if it makes you feel better I can make it completely anonymous.”

You grimace and begrudgingly agree.

“Excellent!~” Jed exclaims in a sing-song voice that annoys you more than it should. “Do you mind if I record this?”

He’s already fishing in his pocket and pulls a chunky hand-held tape recorder into your personal space. In his other hand, he fumbles a small notepad and nearly drops the camera if it weren’t for the cord attaching it to his neck.

“I guess…” You’re surprised by his pushiness that contrasts with the look he’s constructed.

“Can you walk me through what happened the night you saw the man dressed as Michael Myers in your home?” He angles the tape recorder to his face slightly before pointing it back at you, already putting you on the spot.

“Uh, yeah, let me retrace my steps a little bit.” You gesture for him to follow you to the front door and he just about skips behind you. You wrack your brain for the details that you tried to forget, Jed snaps a couple shots of the house.

“I had gotten back from meeting Laurie around three; I think it was a little over a month ago.” He writes what you assume is the date into the notepad. “I had a repairman change the locks, so I wasn’t alone in the house until at least four. I think he waited for him to leave.”

“Could I have the name of the repair man to corroborate your story?”

You immediately furrow your brows, slightly affronted. “Why would I lie about something like that? It’s not even important to what happened.”

“Why are you so defensive?”

You cannot believe the nerve of this man in your own home, no less.

“Oh yes, it’s going to be anonymous, that makes sense. Please, go on.”

Crossing your arms and biting back a retort to kick him out purely for Laurie’s sake, you continue.

“I was upstairs getting...uh...undressed,” furious scribbling from Jed. “And after I took my shirt off I was pushed into the wall really hard-”

“May I see where?” He’s got the pen balanced between his hand and his chin, looking at you innocently. You hesitate, and ultimately don’t know why you say yes.

It’s easier to demonstrate, standing where it all happened.

“He started to choke me, pulling me up off the ground right here-he had his hands around my neck.” You take a shaky breath, slightly uncomfortable with sharing a traumatic event with a stranger. The scratching of pen on paper is distracting.

“I don’t know how long it was, but my vision started spotting and right before I thought I was gonna die,” you gesture to the floor. “He dropped me.”

“Incredible. Do you think there was a reason he stopped?” Jed stand in the middle of your bedroom, fingers itching around his camera.

You swallow. Of course you know now. Or you think you do.

“No. I don’t know.”

Jed narrows his eyes as you look away from him. He can read you like a book, albeit you’re trying to be closed off, but he’s got a press pass to what you’re thinking.

“And then what happened?” he licks his lips as you turn away from him.

“He left while I was on the floor. When I was done coughing I jumped up and locked it.”

“That’s it?” your story disappoints him. It doesn’t sound like his Michael to give up on his prey, but it’s the best lead he has.

“Yeah.” you nod, cutting it off there, the rest doesn’t matter. Jed ends the tape and tucks it away, gesturing that he’ll follow you out.

“Actually~” he stops with his notepad again. “Do you mind showing me where you were when the locks were being changed?”

“Sure.” You say kind of strained, anything to get him out of your room quicker.

The stop in the kitchen is quick, and you rub your temples as he stops to jot down notes.

‘Back door unlocked’

“Thanks! That should be all I need for now.” He claps the paperback shut and tucks the pen behind his ear.

You take a breath of relief when he finally steps back out the front door.

“Oh, and if you think of anything else, here’s my card.” He smiles at you in a predatory way when you take it. “It was nice meeting you in person, sweetheart.”

*** Michael listens to the last dying struggles of the person underneath his knife, savoring the ending moments of its frenzied fear as its last breath wheezes out.

The thought of you hasn’t been leaving his mind as he killed anymore, making it harder to ignore the growing fantasy of what you would sound like with a knife in your chest and all your other delicious noises of pain.

But he doesn’t want you dead, which is the frustrating part standing in the way.

Wiping the blood off his knife on his sleeve doesn’t clean it off well, the jumpsuit already wet with the blood of multiple people tonight.

Michael stalls on the journey home. He knows what he wants, it burns under the surface in a low roil that becomes hotter in contact with you. He hasn’t acted on it, but the reaction he provoked accidentally didn’t feel as good as it should have.

It’s because he wasn’t in control.

Instead it felt like when you lean too far back in a chair and start to fall. He scared himself more than he scared you. He won’t choke on his restraint this time.

The back door slams behind him with purpose, smelling the familiar air of the house suddenly pervaded by the blood on his body. Blood and mud mingle in tracks on the tile and wood.

When he stands in your doorway, you look up from where you sit on your bed with a book.

“Michael?” inquisitive. His knife slides easily in his slick hand so you can see it.

You groan and chastise him for making a mess in the house, dancing around the subject of his activities. Getting up from the bed, you move to skirt around him and grab a towel.

But you're not scared enough of him anymore to give him that look of fear.

His left hand shoots grabs you by the neck and pins you to the door frame with force, coagulating red smearing across your skin. The way you grunt in response electrifies him, but when you speak it’s with confusion and it makes him angry.

Your small body is easily tossed to the floor, not hard enough to bruise because he’s toying with you. When you try to rise he plants his knee on your chest.

He can see it in your eyes, you’re trying not to be scared, but it’s human instinct and he knows exactly where to press. More of his weight down upon you and you wheeze like so delightfully. Michael looks hard into your eyes, only met with steely defiance that drives him mad.

The knife slams into the wood next your head, sinking in and sticking. The whiff of air blows your hair around your face and you flinch hard.

That’s what he was looking for. When you open your eyes, you’re cringing to hide the hurt, but the red dripped onto you looks so beautiful.

Michael slowly lifts off of you, sliding the knife out easily and staring you into the floor. Pinned by eyes until he huffs, sated, and leaves you on the

[lovemesomesurveys]

“how the hell does a broken heart learn to mend itself?”

Would you ever like to own your own gym? No.

Do you listen to Christina Perri? If so, do you like her music? Jar of Hearts and A Thousand Years are a few of my favorites of hers. Oh, and Human. <<< Yeah, I liked those as well. I think those are the only ones I’m familiar with of hers. I haven’t listened to her music in a long time.

When was the last time you went to Wal-Mart? Back in March before the quarantine/lockdown and shit really hit the fan.

Which is worse: Runny nose or stuffy nose? Both are very annoying, but feeling like you can’t breathe is definitely the worst. 

Do you hate how people are quick to judge? i think we all have that tendency, some more than others. It can be an issue when you let that judgment form your whole opinion about a person without even knowing them. Except in extreme cases of course when it a quick judgment could be useful, like if you’re feeling uncomfortable or someone appears to be sketchy. 

Has anyone ever made you feel small? Yes.

Would you rather give your food to a homeless shelter or money to charity? Food to a homeless shelter would be more direct and immediate. When you donate money to a charity you don’t really know when or how it gets used, exactly. And it can take time to be sorted out and distributed. That being said, of course donating to charities is good and important and will help in the long run. I’m just saying, donating food to a homeless shelter would be something they could use immediately and benefit them directly. Does any of this make sense?

Can you tell when your best friend is lying? I think I’m typically pretty good at that.

Would you pay extra money for make up just to make you look prettier? Ha, all the makeup in the world didn’t make a difference for me. Still ugly. I stopped even bothering with it.

Do you like to look at license plates to see where people are from? I don’t pay much attention to that.

Are you more hungry or tired right now? I’m both. My sleep schedule continues to be weird. I fell asleep around 230AM until about 4AM and then fell asleep again shortly after that until like 7:45AM. Now it’s 8:46AM and here I am. Like wtf? And lately I’ve been having a bit more of an appetite, so I’ve been feeling hungrier earlier than usual and actually eating more than just dinner and my late bowl of ramen. My body is such a mess.

Do you follow your head or heart more? It’s a battle.

On a scale 1-10 how much do you like my surveys? I’m assuming the same person has made the last few I’ve done with this same kind of format, in which case they’ve been fine. 

Do you think you deserve more than what you have? I don’t think I deserve anything. 

Would you ever spend $2,000 on a dress? I can’t imagine ever spending that much on a dress. I don’t plan on getting married, but even if I did I’d find something a lot less expensive. 

“Reach out to you, touch my hand”

Have you ever made fresh dough? No.

When you were little, did you used to make cookies with your mom? Yeah.

Has anyone ever said "Say it, don't spray it" to you? lol yeah, when I was a kid.

What is your least favorite type of person? Arrogant, cocky, close minded people.

True or False : Superman is your favorite super hero. False.

Have you ever drank Silk milk? Yeah. Well, I don’t drink it directly (or any kind of milk for that matter, ew), but I use soy in coffee drinks, cereal, or to dunk cookies or brownies or something. I tend to use vanilla almond milk more often, though.

What color is your camera? I use the camera on my phone, which is a coral iPhone XR.

When you create a survey, do you usually make the title lyrics? I don’t create surveys.

Do you play Cityville, Farmville or Frontierville on Facebook? Nope. Never got into any of those.

Do you tend to complain when its to hot out? Ugh, yes. I’m miserable when it’s hot and everyone knows it lol.

Flip flops or tennis shoes? Tennis shoes. I never wear flip flops or any kind of sandal or open toed shoe.

Do you like your fingernails long or short? They’re always barely there cause I’ve had this horrible habit all my life. Well, with the exception of the very few times I managed to stop and let them grow a decent length. Never lasted long, though.

Have you made anyone laugh today? I haven’t interacted with anyone yet today.

Would you like to go to South America? Sure.

Have you ever read Time magazine? I think so.

“Tonight we’re going to dance on the edge of the Hollywood sign”

Do you use the gel, spray or powdered deodorant? I think it’s called a solid.

Do you own a pearl necklace? No. I used to, but it broke. 

Do you know anyone named Julie? No.

What's your favorite candle scent? I love the autumn scented ones.

Does anyone you know own a motorcycle? Yes.

How many different languages can you say “hello” in? Just a few. I don’t feel like thinking about how many different ones right now.

Do you like Train’s music? Yeah. 

Have you ever accidentally clicked on an ad on the side of your screen? Yeah, back in the day when ads were annoying and popped up all the time. I haven’t had that issue in years.

Do you like dark or light pop/soda better? My favorite sodas are Coke and Dr. Pepper, which happen to be dark.

Have you ever been told you were a good dance? No.

Do you own one of those small, battery powered fans? I do.

When you sleep, do you like it complete silence or do you like sound? I need some sound and light, hence why I sleep with the TV on. I have it completely quiet or dark.

Was it cloudy today or clear sky? It’s supposed to be clear skies. Do you like the show Seinfiled or Friends? I never got into either one.

Would you rather have bad breath or body odor? Ew.

“I’m gonna sleep in my Snuggie tonight.”

Have you ever ridden in a hot air balloon? Noooo. I never would.

Do you hate it when people get obsessed with their boyfriend/girlfriend? I had friends who obsessively talked about their significant others and it did get quite annoying, not gonna lie.

Have you ever been to Nevada? Yes.

Are you dating the boy/girl of your dreams? I’m single.

Do you watch Glee? No, I never got into it.

Do you like coffee? I love coffee. Duh.

Do you like applesauce? Yeah. Wow, I don’t recall the last time I had any, though.

When was the last time you had a nightmare? It’s been awhile, thankfully.

Have you ever had a manicure? Once. It was for my 8th grade promotion.

Do you like graphic tees? Ha, my whole wardrobe is graphic tees. And leggings.

Are you the type of person who is always yelling? Not at all.

Do you like Willow or Jaden Smith better? I don’t have any feelings about either one.

Is anything making you mad right now? No.

Name one thing you've NEVER done but want to: Go to Hawaii.

Ever seen the movie Shark Tale? I know of it, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it.

“No matter what, I’ll never stop loving you”

Do you like Italian food? I love it.

Which would you rather have: drama or no friends? I have no friends now and I’m honestly okay with it.

Do you own a black necklace? No.

Would you rather have white & crooked teeth or straight teeth that are yellow? How ‘bout straight and white teeth.

How many notifications do you have on Facebook right now? Zero.

Do you smile or laugh more? Uhh I don’t know.

Have you ever tried Nutella? Yes, and I don’t like it. <<< Saaame. I don’t get the hype.

What age did you stop watching Spongebob? I was never really into it, I just caught some episodes because my younger brother loved it as a kid.

Have you ever seen the show Boy Meets World? Yeah, I’ve seen the entire series numerous times. It’ll always be a favorite.

Have you received bad news within the past week? No. 

What's your favorite color of highlighter? Yellow or orange is fine.

Do you celebrate the 4th of July? I mean, we go outside to my front yard and watch fireworks lol that’s about it.

Are you better at Math or Social Studies? Social studies. Math and I were always enemies.

Do you like the name Lindsey? Sure.

Do you have a teacher that your close to? Not anymore, but yeah I had a couple.

“We’ll go down just like Titanic”

When you eat, do you always use a napkin? Yes.

On a scale 1-10 how much do you like hot dogs? It’s one of those weird things that I have to be in the mood for, which is very, very rare. It’s not something I ever crave. I haven’t even had one in years. Although, a Costco hotdog is pretty delicious.

Have you ever been on a cruise ship? Nope.

Is your phone a flip, sliding or touch? It’s a touch-screen - most phones are nowadays. <<<

Are you okay right now? I don’t feel well.

Do you own a blue dress? No.

When you look at the person you like, does it seem like its only you two? I don’t currently like anyone in that way.

Do you like pizza crust with cheese in it? It’s good, but it’s not something I tend to get.

Do you like copy paper or lined paper better? Lined paper. 

Are you listening to music? Nope.

Have you ever gone swimming in the moonlight? Nope.

Is it AM or PM right now? It’s AM.

Who is your cell phone carrier? Verizon.

Do you hate public speaking? Haaaaaate. So glad I don’t have to do speeches or presentations for school anymore. It never got any easier, it was always super anxiety inducing and dreadful for me.

Have you ever been in a band? No.

“We can go to the alligator sky”

Are you more of a follower or leader? I definitely don’t see myself as a leader.

Would you rather: write a 10 page short story or do public speaking? The 10 page paper. 

Did you eat any type of fruit today? No. It’s been awhile since I’ve had any fruit. :X

Do you enjoy bowling? Nah.

Do you like the smell of rain? Yesss.

Have you ever seen or been in quicksand? No.

Do you want to get married in a church or somewhere else? I don’t want to get married.

Have you ever played hard to get? No. I’m just hard to want.

Do you go to the fair during the summer? No.

Are more mean or nice? I’m not a mean person.

Do you go tanning? I don’t ever “go” tanning, but it happens when I go to the beach. 

Can you speak Spanish? Not fluently, but yes.

Is it hard for your to compliment people? Only because I’m just shy and awkward.

Are you a goodie goodie or a bad person? I was always the goodie-goodie.

Would you rather visit Chicago or New York City? New York City.

[secretobsessionstuff]

for a prompt: one of your characters getting so airsick on a long flight that they actually look forward to getting sick and getting it over with - only to realize they don't actually feel any better after and there's still several more hours to go (maybe madix or dakota)?

Thank you for the request! I hope it’s okay :) 

Madix woke up to a sudden lurch as the wind rocked the plane. He rubbed his eyes and checked the time. It was three in the afternoon, but Dakota and he had already been in the air for three hours, and they still had a little over four hours to go. He desperately wanted to fall back asleep for the rest of the trip, but something stopped him. He could have easily closed his eyes and passed right out. He didn’t let himself do that though.

Next to him, Dakota was wide awake. Sitting in the window seat, he anxiously peered out at the grey sky as it darkened. A sudden gust of wind hit the side of the plane making him jump and hold the armrests a little tighter. His wide frame and tall legs were making him less comfortable than he would have liked. With not much room, he adjusted himself in the squishy seat, accidentally elbowing Madix in the arm.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” he stammered out just as the plane bounced some more. The turbulence wasn’t that bad. In fact, most other passengers didn’t give it any thought, but for some reason, not matter how small, each movement made Dakota jumpy. For a second time, he hit his friend without meaning to. “Goddammit, sorry.”

Madix, who still had one eye, was slowly coming back to reality and accepting that he probably wasn’t going to fall back asleep anytime soon. Besides, Dakota looked like he might want company. “It’s fine. You okay?”

This wasn’t the first time Dakota had been on a plane, and this wasn’t his first flight with turbulence either. Still, Dakota felt uneasy. The hot cramped space, coupled with the jerky movements was making him nauseous. Although it was a relief to see that Madix was awake. He shook his head. “I don’t like this.”

Madix sat up straighter and rubbed his eyes. “The flight is a bit bumpy, isn’t it?”

Dakota nodded harshly, “It’s making me feel sick.”

“Why don’t you try getting some sleep.”

“I can’t,” he said almost immediately, his voice coming out a little shaky. “I can’t focus on anything else.”

“It’s that bad?”

The wind could be heard ramming against the window. The plane didn’t move much, though Dakota still felt his stomach rise in his throat. His ears were popping, his head felt stuffy, and he had literally no room to move his legs. His eyes were shooting all over the place for no other reason than wanting a distraction. None came, and he simply felt sicker by the second.

Madix could see the panic growing in Dakota’s eyes and the colour slowly draining from his face. “Alright, just relax. I’ll call over a flight attendant and get you some water and maybe medication for motion sickness.”

“No.” Dakota said quickly and sharply. He squeezed his eyes shut and put a hand to his middle. “No, I feel like I’m gonna puke.”

“I know,” Madix said with confusion on his face. “…That’s why I’m getting you meds.”

“No,” he repeated but softer this time. “I just want to get it over with. I’ll feel better after I puke.” Or that’s what he hoped for at least. It’s not like he would feel sick with an empty stomach…right.”

“You sure? It might help you calm down and sleep.”

“Madix, I feel very uncomfortable. I’m not getting sleep anytime soon so would you drop it.”

Taken aback by the bluntness of the reply, Madix put his hands up. “Okay. Here.” He handed his friend airsick bag and stopped talking. Though he kept his focus on Dakota.

Dakota held the bag open between his legs and exhaled deeply, letting the air puff his cheeks up. Rain started to pelt the window as the plane flew into storm clouds. The next couple minutes were torture. Dakota kept opening and closing the bag as he felt the food in his belly slosh around. First, he sat with his elbows on his knees just staring into the barf bag. The next minute, he knocked his head back against the headrest, and groaned. Then he was hunched over again, feeling like his belly was never going to feel better. 

Strangely, Dakota began wishing for the plane to rock a little bit. He needed something to get things started, and thinking about food wasn’t doing the trick. He could never hate food, even if his stomach was outside of his body. He tried forcing a few burps, but it only succeeded in making the organ cramp up more.

Eventually, the plane must have passed through a jet stream because he suddenly felt his whole body being jostled. His belly sloshed and shook like jelly, until he finally had to bring the bag to his chin and heave up his lunch. The plane felt like it was spiraling down to the ground, effectively giving Dakota’s stomach the command to purge.

He knew he wanted to get it over with, though he also knew that actually throwing up would suck, like it always did. He just had to tough it out. Of course, after the first bout he still felt pretty crappy, but this was a good start he thought.

But fuck he hated this! He felt hot and sweaty and squished, and he really wished his stomach would start feeling better. He groaned and hugged his midriff. Next to him, Madix was sitting rather still. Perhaps his words had been a bit harsh.

“You don’t have to stop talking.” Dakota mumbled, feeling awkward and bad.

Madix cocked one of his eyebrows. “What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Dakota said, throwing his hands up. “Be your annoying self and tell me how I need to drink water. Or tell me how I’m doing good and that the flight is almost over.”

“But it isn’t.”

Dakota shook his head and was going to say something sarcastic, but he was jerked around in his seat again and curled in on himself. He moaned and went back to leaning forward on his knees. He belched up a small wave of sick, knowing that more was about to come.

God this sucked. There were still a couple hours to the flight, the rain wasn’t about to stop, he felt disgusting – and Madix was rubbing slow circles on his back.

And it felt nice.

And then he vomited a torrent of partly digested stomach contents that went splattering into the almost full bag. He belched and choked up wave after wave of thick sick.

“Oh Kota, that’s it,” Madix cooed, rubbing his friend’s back up and down. He was also leaning forward, blocking Dakota from the other passengers, and speaking in a hushed tone. Dakota was drenched in sweat that Madix could feel through his shirt. The boy’s muscles were shaking, and his face was deathly pale. “I’m sorry the flight is making you so sick.”

Dakota wiped his mouth and sniffled. He sat upright again, holding the bag carefully so as to not spill its contents all over his lap. A nearby flight attendant was silently watching, making sure that the sick passenger was okay.

She quietly came over with a trash can. “Is there anything else you need, sir?”

Madix chimed in by saying, “can you get him some water please?”

“Of course.”

Dakota sighed, feeling like he could actually catch his breath now. Although, he still felt like dying. He looked at Madix sheepishly who had his hand on his shoulder. “Thank you. Sorry about being rude before.”

“That’s okay, Kota,” Madix assured him. He squeezed his friend’s shoulder and gave him a half-smile. “You’re doing terrible by the way, truly awful at vomiting, and there’s still four more hours to go.”

This time, Dakota bumped into Madix purposely, letting his elbow hit him right in the ribs. “I wish you were actually joking because I really don’t want to be in the air anymore.”

“Are you not feeling better?”

“Not really,” Dakota admitted. “I’m still nauseous and uncomfortable.”

Madix shrugged while taking the airsick bag from the seat in front of him and handing it to Dakota. “In that case, I will so generously give you this.”

Dakota groaned and took the bag. For the next hour or so the storm carried on and the turbulence persisted. With his stomach already being empty, Dakota dry heaved miserably. The nausea and dizziness stuck around for the rest of the flight, but thankfully he managed to fall asleep with his head on Madix’s shoulder.

[kashimos-hajime]

if i time it right, the thunder breaks

Summary: “And he hated himself and hated her, too, for the ruin they'd made of each other.” 

WARNINGS: swearing, it’s getting bad, mentions of (sexual, if you interpret it that way) child abuse, violence, angst, these idiots dont know how to take care of themselves but they know how to take care of each other Pairing: Detective Loki x Reader Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: thank you for the crazy response babes. truly thought this would flop and y’all proved me wrong. this is an important chapter and there’s a lot to say. i am open to tagging people so just lemme know if you want to be by sending an ask. GIF not mine

01 | ... | 03 | 04 | 05

“Stop eating my shit.”

“Fuck off,” you snap, tossing the container of gummies onto the dash. It’s only half-empty and it’s not like you won’t buy him more. “God, I fucking hate this case.” You pinch the bridge of your nose as he slams the door, shaking rain off his coat. You swallow the gummy, feeling it all the way down to your stomach. The list of level-three sex offenders is like your death sentence as you cross out another name on the list with jagged black lines. “Nothing?”

“Just some German porn. Fuck.” His palm collides with the steering wheel as you try to sink into your chair. The air is stuffy in here but you don’t have the strength to open a window. “Fuck.” He sucks in a breath between his teeth, the cord of his throat pulsing. You lick your lips, turn away.

“You need some coffee?” You lean forward and pull out the giant thermos you have filled to the brim with coffee from your bag, and he snatches it from you, letting the black roast scorch his throat. You press your temple against the cold window before he nudges your shoulder. He offers the open thermos back to you and you down it, the bitterness waking up your mind as you twist the cap on shut again.

“Where next?” Your nose twitches again as you sniff, trying to see straight at the list. Reading out the address, you fold it back into your pocket and lean into the window as the Sedan rolls into motion.

It is raining now, a gentle pattering that you could fall asleep too if you were home instead of here.  David sends you a glance but otherwise focuses his gaze on the road. It’s a long night before you, and you can imagine the thermos would be empty before long.

David’s fingers tap the steering wheel when he drives. You know you’re not supposed to notice such a habit of his, but it’s a part of him, like how you know when he’s under stress, he blinks like someone squirted lemon juice in his eyes, or how he takes his coffee black because he nearly choked on watered down sugar for coffee once when he was fifteen. 

But, you do. You can’t help that he’s part of you and you can’t help but smile at his young face, spitting that awful coffee into the street, one of the brightest memories in your head, surrounded by so much smoke and shadow that pulls, claws, tugs you in and then you are spiraling.

“You’re thinking loudly,” he comments, banishing the smoke for mere moments, and you toss him a look from where it had drifted into the dark trees. Bundling your coat around yourself, you recline into your chair. 

“I’m just thinking about us,” you reply and he lets out a sharp breath, a gesture often paired with him shaking his head in irritation or disbelief or something. You don’t want to look at the ruins of what you’d done. “When we were younger.”

The fingers on the steering wheel pause, wrap tighter instead, and you close your eyes.

“Really?” He is stiff, every inch of him. You’re sure the cord of his neck is hard as a rock against his skin. The line of his reflection is just visible in the glass and you press your temple against the window, looking into your lap. 

“The years you were at Huntington,” you begin, and this time you must look at him. There are only some times you can bring such a time up and by the twitch of the muscles in his jaw, this isn’t the best, but it bottles up inside you that you might… you just don’t want to think about it anymore. “Those were the worst years of my life. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

“You haven’t.”

“Well, I hated seeing you there. I hated seeing what they did to you.” 

You can see it play before your eyes, a mere spectator to some biopic film that you are forced to see.

Two figures under the shade of the church, one tall and thin and, another carrying a can and bags and stale bread that spilled over tiny arms, food that could’ve gone to those who didn’t have a home like he did. He’d insisted you take it back, but you simply dented a can against the rock until a tiny hole formed and told him to suck the juice from the mangoes before it leaked into the moist dirt. Moonlight bathed two figures even under the shade of the church as the taller one helped the tiny one over the fence.

“I’ll come back,” you promised in harsh breaths. He held the rest of the food in his arms, granola bars he could eat quietly, bread he could rip apart in small bits and chew on, and you grabbed the front of his ratty shirt desperately despite how much he must feel, a purple and blue plethora underneath his little church uniform that’d been torn in all the wrong places. “My uncle won’t notice. I’ll come back for you.”

You thoughts drift even further back. 

A hospital waiting room, reeking of antiseptic and too much bleach. This boy you met just an hour ago, sitting with his respective social worker in that antiseptic waiting room was the most interesting person you’d ever met. He had cards, and said he’d taught himself magic tricks if you wanted to see. You nodded but played goldfish instead. 

“They’re not my real parents,” he’d told you almost angrily, and you’d balked at the thought. “I’m only here because they have to do something before they bring me to a Huntington Boys Home. They think I have ‘problems’.”

“Oh.” You had frowned artfully and he asked if you had a seven. You shook your head and said goldfish. “Where are your real parents?”

“I think they died.”

“Oh.” You remember the disappointment, the utter sadness compelling you to watch the boy as he looks into his cards.

“Why are you here?”

“My mom can’t take care of me anymore and I don’t know my dad.” Your shoulders had risen, fallen indelicately and the boy smiled with the teeth he had. He was missing one of the lower ones and you had smiled back faintly, nervously. 

“That sucks.”

“I guess. I didn’t like her that much.”

You swallow and close your eyes as if that’ll help bat the image away but it only serves to show you the bloodied knuckles, the bruises on pale, milky thighs and the scars shown in the mist of hot showers and empty locker rooms.

“You, uh, you liked the canned fruit the best. I remembered.” Your voice is faint, barely heard over the rain and rumble of the engine that’s already just a whisper.

He swallows, too, eyes burning into the windshield. You know he’s trying his hardest not to swerve or stop the car, or even look at you, because his arms shake from the strength he holds the steering wheel. You’re quite sure it might detach if he goes any longer. 

“You told me there was life outside of priests and sick fucks like them.”

“Well, I didn’t know. It was just something I heard my uncle say, when he was sober at least. He said there was a life outside of your shitty circumstance,” you reply with that indelicate shrug. You haven’t thought of the man who’d offered a roof over your head and nothing else in a while. “It was one of the few things I learned from him, not because of him.”

“You shouldn’t fucking be here,” he says softly. Your eyes trace the arch of his neck, a feather-light gaze that flickers across his cheeks, the slick-back hair, the hands that loosen on the steering wheel as you travel over a bump on the road. “This town will never be good enough for you.”

“It has you in it.” You know it’s something you shouldn’t fucking say but you can’t help it. That boy in the hospital room with the gap-wide smile sits before you and you can’t do anything about it. You turn your body inwards, towards him, and his hand finds your knee on its own accord as you settle into your new position. “I fucking hated seeing you there.” “I know.”

“I’m glad you left when you could.”

“I know.” His hand, a heavy heat on your knee, squeezes before he lifts it and your eyes dart to the warmth he’s left on you, a warmth that spreads through your body like warm wine. “I’m glad you did too, either.”

Terrible, ugly, screaming and the smell of vodka spits in your mouth. You shake off the feeling and you know that David saw you shudder. He doesn’t say anything more. Neither do you.

Time does not heal all wounds, and you wonder if love could’ve ever built a palace on sand.

.

You can’t sleep. Even with the father in custody, you can’t sleep. David’s arm tightens around your waist as he sleeps, but you know he is uneasy in his slumber. 

Fuck.

“Sleepin’?” he mumbles suddenly and you close your eyes as if that’ll help you. “Me neither.”

“Get some sleep,” you murmur back, burrowing your face deeper into the pillow. You can still see the dead man’s body in the father’s basement and your nose twitches. You had held the father above the hole, made him look at the darkness of his basement, at the bones of his work. Made him look into David’s eyes, made him see.

Not his work, a voice in the back of your mind whispers. The devastation beside you is not this man’s work. The smell of dust and cobwebs still lingers. So does David’s voice. The boys home. Sweet fruit nectar and the taste of blood form a strange cocktail in your mouth.

That’s justice unserved, too. You suppress a shiver.

“Come on.” His voice warms your neck as he pulls himself closer, nose pressed against the back of your shoulder. You tug his arm tighter around you, fingers slipping to interlace with his. “Close your eyes.” “They’re closed,” you promise. His lips brush against the bare skin of your shoulder before a feather-soft kiss lands on the juncture between your neck and shoulder. His legs press underneath your thighs and the warmth his body radiates drowns you, melts you away until you’re nothing. He digs his fingers into your bare stomach and you can feel him blinking hard against your skin. “Sleep. Please. Don’t think about that anymore.” You utter the words so softly, so desperately you barely recognize your own voice.

“Fuck,” he whispers and something wet touches your skin. You open an eye to stare through the window, at the moon nearly blocked out by the branches outside your window as he holds onto you tighter. You feel the fire burning, an ice cold fire that makes you hurt so much. Makes you want to throw him off and rip those memories from his head. Anything to make it stop. “Fuck.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, but it is unheard over the sounds of his harsh, hot breaths. More wetness tracks down your bare shoulders as his arm goes taut around you. You twist around immediately, and pull him close to your chest. Your eyes are closed, your hands clutching into his hair, fingers digging into his skull, salt rain sliding over your cheeks. 

He tries to speak, puffs of air that could’ve been words had he not been so choked, and you merely let him try and break you, let his hands grip bruises into your skin and trace the scars people have left behind. You trace every crack in the porcelain of his back, every fissure that you know reaches from his neck to his legs.

Why couldn’t you have chosen something other than some broken little thing? Something that does not remind you of pain and sick and ache.

You don’t know whether you ask this of yourself or to him.

.

When you wake up, it is hard to even get your eyes to open. You don’t remember when you fell asleep and you wonder if you even had at all.

Three days. Has it really been three days already? You screw up your face to wake yourself up as David shuffles around the room. He’s already awake and you glance blearily at the clock. It’s only 4 AM, that means…

Shit. An hour or two of sleep if you can even call it sleep. Fuck.

Pushing yourself up, you drag yourself out of bed on unsteady legs and wade to the bathroom. 

You’re done in record time and when you leave, David is out of the room and in the kitchen preparing coffee. You begin to poke your head through one of his shrunken dress shirts. You’d stuff it into a pair of looser pants and tie it with a belt today. You just need something looser than one of your own tightfitting blouses. Maybe it’d help you breathe easier. 

He returns moments later to button up his own dress shirt. You can see his eyes rake over your figure, over the shirt you wear, but David doesn’t say anything as you dress. The shadows of the room playing tricks on you, you pull your hair out from underneath your collar and your nose twitches. Sniffing, you try to chase away the exhaustion pulling at your ankles, trying to chain you at your bed. Your hand rubs deep into your eyes as you gather your raincoat and stuff your feet into your boots in the living room.

When the two of you are ready to leave, you a cup of black coffee already in your system and David a piece of chewing gum in his mouth, you grab your bag.

“Here.” You look up. Your huge thermos is filled to the brim with coffee, twisted shut, and you slip it into the bag. 

“Thanks.” 

Letting David press a lingering kiss to your temple before he opens the door, you dig through your bag to make sure you have everything. 

“Let’s head to the station,” he mutters. “I’m not fucking hungry.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Adjusting the straps on your shoulder, you follow after him, locking your apartment door behind you. Neither of you speak the ride to the police station, because there is nothing to say.

Last night is already forgotten.

Not really.

.

Fiddling with your phone, you run a hand through your hair. You can’t describe the uneasiness, the nausea that swirls in your stomach for the first time in years. Whilst David had left in search of the owner of the home where the RV was parked, you are stuck at homebase. You rewind the tapes, watching the interrogation of Alex Jones. It’s ten hours worth of tape, worth of footage that can mean absolutely nothing and a waste of time, or be a breakthrough in the case. You scroll back as the police officers work outside your dark room.

You can hear them talking, the little tap-tap-tap of their keyboards or the sounds of them laughing at some little joke made in the break room and fight the impulse to scream.

When did you get so fucking tired? When did invisible weights chain you to a desk, make the remote effort of rewinding a task as you watch the footage reverse?

“Detective.”

You raise your head, turning only just enough to see Chemelinski standing at the door. That ugly artificial light streams in behind him and you squint at how bright it is outside the dark room. 

“We got something.”

“What?” You stand abruptly and black dots invade your vision as you blink, hand finding the back of the chair as casually as you can. Chemelinski keeps talking and you catch bits and pieces as you walk after him, knuckles brushing the wall just in case your legs decide to give out on you. “What’d the father say?”

“Something. I dunno if you got the sense to make it fit, but it’s something.” The older man opens the door to the interrogation room and you walk in, eyebrows knitting together. The father is sitting there in his grey cardigan, looking rather pathetic for himself, and you sit down.

“Good morning, father.” You lace your fingers on the table, sitting upright as Chemelinski closes the door. “Detective over here tells me you said something specific about the… the child abductor we found in your basement. Care to share it with me?”

“He was… waging a war against God.” One eyebrow rises as you send a glance to Chemelinski who clenches his jaw so visibly you wonder if his teeth are gonna crack. You return your gaze to the father who has yet to look at you. Leaning back into the chair, your hands roll into dragging fists over wood.

“Anything else? About how they were kidnapped or…”

“He said… he took them in daylight. Sometimes, more than one child at a time.”

“Great.” Your knuckles rapping against wood, you wait for anything else. Nothing. Prompting him will have to be the way to go. “Did he act alone? Did he ever mention any family, partners?”

“He said he had a family. He was suffering from a great loss.”

“That’s it?” A numb nod. You stand, the chair scraping against the scuffed floor and you send Chemelinski a foul glare. Blackness swarms your vision and you blink, trying to get rid of it before he notices. “Great. Thank you for your cooperation, father.” Opening the door, you adjust the handcuffs stuffed along the back of your belt and walk down the hall. Chemelinski follows after you but you ignore the detective in favour of jotting down what you’d learned and sending it in a text to David.

Child abductor — took them in daylight, more than one child at a time, had a family. Father decided to talk. 

Text me when you can. -xx

You pause, staring as the text goes through. XX. 

XX.

You hadn’t thought about it before you sent it. It was merely an instinct that took over you and hollows you out now as you stare at the letters. Two simple taps of the same little shape, but it means a world of things both of you buried. You pause in the hallway, staring at that tiny screen, the pixels forming the twenty-fourth letter of the alphabet. Chemelinski sends you a strange glance, passing by you, but you ignore him as you wait for his response.

I will. -D x

He replies in a manner that means he hasn’t forgotten either. You hold the phone tightly in your fist and lift your head to the ugly artificial light as if heaven has washed you in a golden glow. Leaning against the wall, you press the phone to your chest and suck in a breath, hoping that the wind will not whisk you away.

.

Heading to the candlelight vigil. Could be a lead. -D x

What makes you think that? -xx

I dont know. Just something I wish we had. Ill see you soon. -D x

Stay safe. -xx

.

“Fuck.” 

You press the ice pack against the bruising on his shoulder, sniffing with a twitch of your nose as he let out a long, drawn out moan. The coloring isn’t bad; you assume the jacket got the brunt of the damage, but you are sure it’s gonna be worse tomorrow. 

“I should’ve been there for you,” you whisper, fingers brushing over the crisp gelled curls that fall into his eyes. He groans, leaning forward on his knees. The locker room is empty and you leave the ice pack on his shoulder for a second to get the elastic bandage and vitamin K cream. David lets out a huff as you return, moving the ice pack to unveil the red and purple.

“It’s fine. Shit.” Your fingers dipped in vitamin K cream, you smear it gently over the plane of his broad shoulder. “You couldn’t have known someone would’ve jumped onto me.”

“Yeah, but…” you trail off. You don’t know how to argue a point you are too tired to make. “How’s that feel?” you murmur, spreading a thin layer over his skin as he turns to watch your work. You wipe your hand of the excess and ask him to raise his arm a bit. Beginning to wrap his shoulder, you hum to yourself as you work.

“Too tight,” he occasionally says, or he’ll comment on the looseness of a certain round and you steadily make your progress. Forming a figure-eight pattern around his arm, shoulder, and chest, you murmur for him to take a deep breath before continuing. “Thank you,” he utters as you near the end of the elastic bandage. Your fingernails scratch against the fabric as you unfold a lip in the bandage.

“What for?” Grabbing elastic tape, you follow the same pattern to secure the bandage. The rip of the tape fills the silence David does not and you pause to look at him. “Loke.” The nickname feels fucking weird on your tongue. By David’s expression, he feels the same. He doesn’t even look at you as you smooth over the black tape.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What do you mean?” You take hold of his arm, curling his hand into a fist to test bicep size. Sticking a finger beneath the bandage, you check for room and mobility. “Is it too tight?”

“No.”

“Okay, try moving it for me.” With your support, he eases into full mobility and you suppress a small smile. “Good.” You cross your arms and move to stand before him. “You need to get some sleep before the Captain calls you in.” 

“You don’t have to do this for me.”

Uncrossing your arms, you step forward and run your hands through his crisp hair. He looks up and, with you between his legs, rests his chin on your stomach. His fingers interlock on your back, his arms swathing you in the heat of his shower.

Your hands run down to his cheeks as you stare into his porcelain blue eyes, all at once so dark and fragile. Purple half-moons threaten to swallow up his eyes whilst you trace the hollows in his cheeks.

There is so much you have to say. So much you need to say. But you can’t. Not now. Not in the middle of this case. You know it’ll utterly destroy the pillars of what you two are if you do and you know he’s thinking the same thing.

Your eyes search his, and you sink down to a crouch before him. He looks so much older in your arms and you wonders if that is your fault, too. Your fingers drag from his cheek to the robin on his ribs and he lifts your inked hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles where you are marked.

“Get some rest, Loke. Go home and eat.” The words taste like blood and wine in your mouth, all at once bitter and sweet and sour. You draw away and his arms fall around you as your lips find the spot between his eyes. His eyelids flutter shut, and you wonder about many things that you can’t put a name to. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“Come with me.” He grabs your arm, fingers snagging your wrist and your gaze, torn from the door, lands on him. The shadows are there again, and he pulls you towards him. Your boots brush against the tile as you let him pull you between his legs. “Don’t stay here alone.”

“Loke—” Your hands find purchase on his shoulders, and the rough scratch of the bandage on one palm, the silky skin of his other, topple you from within. You remember once, once some version of you would straddle him right here and now and make him yours. When you had room inside your heart for childish little tricks and David and your work. How had you ever done it in the first place? “Loki.”

“Stay with me.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Your heart stops in your chest at the wide eyes, the marble of his cheeks. You can’t. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

“We don’t do that shit,” you let out in a breath, tearing yourself away. He stands and you close your eyes as if that’ll stop the heat of him from enveloping you. Even so, David Loki has the body temperature of a nuclear radiator and you can sense him from a mile away. “David, I—” Your words ghost against blazing lips as he presses a severe kiss against your mouth. Your eyes open and you gasp, trying to breathe. He suffocates you, eyes squeezed shut. Urgent and desperate and pleading, his arms hold onto you as if the world will swallow you, take you away.

You wish to tell him that’ll never happen, so you do. Your arms loop around his neck on their own accord, your lips pushing back against his in an agonizing battle of your desire and his as you tug at his skin, fingers raking red over his back. Your palms flatten and touch the scars, tiny little things, the bullet hole from the heist in ‘08, the stabbing from the breaking and entering on Holder Street, some much older than that.

But then he pulls away, and your eyes open, cold air conditioned wind breathing against your burning skin as he tries to stop himself from kissing your aching mouth again.

He only succeeds on the second try. 

His eyes are shadowed with fear and anguish, and you close your eyes, You don’t want to see that again. Not again. You hate the feeling in the very core of who you are. It feels like a personal attack, a graverobber digging up a coffin you want to remain hidden as his hands, on your neck, slide to your waist and he leans forward to kiss your cheek. His breath whispers over your chin. His thumb brushes away smeared lipstick from the corner of your mouth and you press your lips together, desperate to hold it in. Your eyes search his face, soak in every little blemish as his forehead knocks into yours. 

His other hand plays with your wrist, gently pulling until your fingers interlock and he swallows, looking down at the chasm between you two. Your chests barely brush and yet you feel he is at one end of the world and you are at the other. You are at a stepping off point, and he sits on the other end of the lake.

The smell of him is everywhere, stale coffee and gum and Bearglove deodorant he buys whenever it’s on sale. You inhale sharply, softly, and all too quickly when your gazes meet. It catches in your throat, and you don’t know when your eyes began to burn but they do. His hand holds your face like a fragile little thing, and you find yourself grabbing at his arms, his waist, inked skin that runs for miles and scars that once gave you comfort and now give you heartbreak. You hold him because you are desperate and he holds you because he knows.

You beg, you beg him because you can read his mind and know his tongue, his eyes, his taste. You know his heat and wishes and darkest desires. It is why you cannot hear this — it’ll make it too real.

Do not break a broken thing, you plead. Do not stir up dust in the ruins of the dead. We know, we know, we know. We can live in denial. Don’t do it. Don’t, don’t, don’t— 

“I still love you,” he mumbles forlornly, deliberately, at last, and your breath rattles in your chest. The weight that lifts is only momentary before it slams into you and you rip your hands away, fingers burning from lightning. The words barely sink in before your mouth opens, the response so automatic you nearly let it slip out. But he doesn’t let you. He merely kisses your forehead, and his lips press into some sort of smile written in the language of heartbreak and tragedy. It’s a language you wish you didn’t know so well. “You don’t have to say it back. I just wanted you to know.”

He grabs his black pullover and shrugs his injured shoulder. You’re left standing there, lips barely parted and still pulsing from the heat of his kiss despite how much you want to yell at him, scream for him to stay for just a moment more.

I want to say it back. I want to. I want you. I will.

I can’t.

Your legs are frozen to tile as he pauses at the door. Your head dips, eyes slipping closed as hot wet tears stream down your nose. He’s waiting. You know he is. He waits for a thing you cannot give him once again.

“I love you,” he whispers again, and this time the words bounce across walls and lockers, metal and ceramic before it reaches your hollow heart. The door swings open and shut.

You wonder how you can patch a broken heart with the very thing that broke it.

.

“Are you serious? Loki and I specifically said that we need surveillance on this guy.” It’s a bright 8 AM when you spit these words, collar twisted in your fist. “I know you’re stretched thin, but you gotta keep your word.” Your other hand grips a cup of steaming coffee you want to throw into the man’s face. Instead, you toss the dog collar onto his desk and hope the poison in your voice is enough.

“You said he was innocent.”

“And we also said we wanted surveillance on him. Look, you could’ve called either one of us. We’re a team for a reason. I could’ve went out and kept an eye on him. This was a stupid mistake, and I don’t want this to happen again.” You lean forward, fingers digging into the wood as you make sure the Captain is nearly shitting his pants.  “You fucking know how important this case is to the both of us. Don’t fuck it up again.”

“What do you want?”

“You think we can do something different, tell us.”

“Detective, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Unimportant. We need to know where everyone is.” You slam your hand hard against the desk and the pens clatter before you straighten up, taking a long pull of your coffee.

“Point made.”

“Good. Communication lines—” You gesture between yourself and the Captain— “need to be open. I’m gonna work on finding the guy. Communication. You have my number.” Whipping around, you brush past your… the man who had confessed feelings he shouldn’t have and you sigh, leaning against the wall farther down the hall. You suck down the rest of your coffee, the warmth of it chilling your stomach.

He’s in a foul mood, you know, and you’re sure it’s about the dead dog you found last night. Or it could be the fact that you slept in a motel last night. TBD. 

You hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep last night. You had sweated and tried sleeping naked, then got too cold and the covers hadn’t been enough. You tried to blame it on the shitty heater in the motel, but your body ached in a way you had only known to happen once before so you’d instead gone out for a late night stroll around the block to jog out the energy. 

In the break room, you find it empty and you sigh, opening the fridge to check for food that hasn’t been claimed. Nothing. There’s a stack of icecream, but you’ll eat that later. Slamming the door shut, you catch your warped reflection in the metal. Your eyes are sunken and red, purple smearing your skin like someone punched you right in the sockets and your skin is dull and weepy. You gently probe at the swollen eyebags, tossing your coffee into the trash.

“Morning.” Spinning around, you spot him leaning against the door, hands shoved in his pockets. Concern is etched onto his face, but so is every hour he didn’t have as sleep.

“Good morning.”

Your eyes drift back to the trash can. You’d rather get tossed into a dumpster then face him right now. “I have… work to do.” You fucking hate this. No matter how much you try, you know that if your eyes meet his for even a split second, you won’t be able to control what happens next.

“Yeah, so do I.”

And you walk past him as if he means nothing. As if he does not stare holes into your back. As if you will not seek him out later because the two of you are moths and flames, gold to a thief, the moon and ocean, an inexplicable pull that defies the laws of every science.

.

“You’re only three hours into the tape.” 

The man whips around in the office chair and you cross your arms, the corner of your mouth twitching. He turns around, pressing his face into his fingers as you walk into the dark room. You can see the tapes he’s watching, the ones you’ve obsessed over, and you blink, nose twitching at the sight of Alex Jones.

“You know this shit well,” he mutters. You place a hand on his injured shoulder, you don’t feel the foam padding but he stiffens and not from the pain. Cramps crawl up your arm and your fingers roll into a fist when you peel yourself off of him. “Fuck. I don’t… I don’t know if there’s something there that I’ve missed or—”

“You get any sleep last night?”

“Did you?”

Silence. He runs a hand over his face, leaning into his chair and you look down at him. All hard lines and soft edges, you want to touch him even though you know you’ll burn.

“Why’d you say it?” you ask softly. He doesn’t turn to look at you and you wrap yourself in your arms, squeezing hard enough as a reminder. “We agreed.”

“I know. I know, but— ”

“Detectives.” The two of you spring apart like you’re highschoolers caught fucking at prom and David digs a finger into his swollen eyes. He looks as fucking tired as you feel. “You’ve got a call.”

Sighing, he pauses the tape. “Right. Fuck, you… you don’t have to go.” You step back to give him room, and when he stands, you hate how much he towers over you. Hate how much you want to tell him he’s wrong. But instead, you nod.

“I’ll stay. You, go.” 

Your eyes meet for just the briefest of seconds and he blinks hard. Running a hand over his mouth and chin, he nods and turns to go.

He’s muzzling himself. You hate it when he fucking does this, but now, you can’t do shit about it. Words that threaten to spill out of your mouth slam against your lips as you watch him leave, and you sit down where he did mere minutes ago, the warmth of him still lingering like a mist, a cloak.

You pretend you can’t think about him anymore. Love is not for men and women like you.

.

He goes to Value Mall every week, buys different sizes for kids -D x

Pays with cash, messes with mannequins. Gave her both our numbers. -D x

Thought I should let you know. -D x

I know. Thanks. -xx

Alright. I can go to a motel or whatever. -D x

No it’s okay. I wouldn’t mind if you were there -xx

.

David crawls into bed with you for the first time in more than twenty-four hours. His back presses against yours tentatively and you turn, the sheets twisting around your legs. Your arm wraps around his waist, eyes closing. His heart thuds underneath your ear, an echo that fits into the hollow of your ribs.

Peace lasts for two hours before you’re done pretending trying to sleep. For lunch, you grab a coffee from the cart near the hospital on the way to the station.

You don’t talk about what he said, pretend it never happened in some unspoken agreement, but you can read it in his eyes every time he thinks you’re not looking. You wonder if things were different, would he have told you still? Or would he have doomed himself to silence forever instead?

The answer to your question is ashes in your mouth.

tags: @woah-jess @jenlrose @mytinybaguette @arcaneloki

[suitetarts]

It didn’t used to be this way

Father and son climb a mountain and learn how to process trauma. Fluffy, angsty sweetness with a plot!

Pairings: None, just Mando and Baby Yoda

Warning: Canon-typical violence, descriptions of past trauma, mild body gore

Words: 5300

AO3 Link

The engines geared down, the exhaust spray and landing gear deployed, all to bring the Razor Crest to the surface of the mountain’s clearing with the flip of a couple dozen buttons and switches. The ship settled in with a soft thump instead of the usual hard landing, thanks in no small part to the thick blanket of snow. Din was trying his best to temper his nerves as he continued his familiar routine of stabilizing solar capacitors and turning on ground protocols. Greef Carga had found some interesting intel on a former Jedi temple from before the Empire hidden in the snow-capped peaks of Saloscant. This planet was temperate enough for colonization, but was in the furthest reaches of the known galaxies and had been all but abandoned by the powers that be, along with the temple Din sought to find. While it was good to know he probably wasn’t going to come across any sorcerers, there was always the chance of finding some pocket of outlaws. That, and the bounty hunter fancied himself more attuned to dryer, warmer climates.

A white cloud flew up in puffs and swirls of fresh powder from beneath the Crest. The child -- his child, he supposed with a strange feeling in his gut -- climbed from Din’s lap to the dashboard in speechless awe. He made his way to the glass and looked down at the disheveled snow beneath the ship. The baby chirped and looked back at Din with gleefully bright eyes and a perk to his ears.

The Mandalorian couldn’t help the smile creeping on his face. The kid was too cute when he was excited. “Pretty, isn’t it? Its snow.”

The child pressed his small, three-fingered hand against the window for a moment but flinched from the cold. He pointed outside with an accusatory augh.

“Snow is kind of like rain, but frozen. You can even eat it,” Din explained with a sad smile, feeling wistful. He had old memories of carelessly playing in snow on his planet of birth, but those memories were vague and bittersweet. With a soft shake of his head, he blocked those memories out. They didn’t do him any good, but lately with the kid, he couldn’t help but recall bits and pieces of a happier little boy’s childhood.

The child looked back at him with a small droop in his ears, as if he could feel his caretaker’s thoughts. 

“Don’t look at me like that, everything’s fine. Look at this.” Din leaned over the dashboard, drawing a simple smiling face into the condensation on the window with a gloved hand. The child giggled, dragging his tiny fingers on the glass to draw lovely little lines.

After a few more moments, the Mandalorian held his hands out to the baby, waving for the little one to come closer with a quick movement of his gloved finger. The child excitedly waddled over and into his arms. “It’s time to go, so let’s bundle you up.”

Din began to wander around the various corners and crevices of the Razor Crest with the child on his hip, rummaging for some of his old clothes that he hadn’t at some point used to soak up engine oil. The child managed to slipped away to return to the cockpit and its windows, but upon his bounty hunter father finding the asset (read: a worn, but incredibly soft, old cloak), the child was quickly scooped up again. 

An extended trip in the outdoors was going to require some prep and creativity, as far as getting this 50-year-old infant ready to go. As they had flown in, Din had seen some stony ruins high in the mountains, more than likely this Jedi temple, which was maybe a half-day’s hike away from where he was able to find a suitable landing place for the ship. Climbing a mountain to a surely abandoned and scavenged place to search for magic artifacts or some sort of clue, with a baby no less, was going to be no simple feat for the Mandalorian, but on top of it all: he was definitely catching a cold. Din could feel the tiredness and sinus pressure looming, and he still hadn’t felt 100% since he almost died on Nevarro. He didn’t have the luxury of sick time, however. He had to find the home of his foundling or train the child to maturity himself, either which way would benefit from him figuring out how the basics of taking care of a 50-year-old infant with supernatural powers.

Din took a step back and inspected his handiwork: the child tightly bound as if he were a ronto wrap, with only his nose and eyes visible. The Mandalorian allowed himself a broad smile from the confines of his helmet as he held the baby in the crook of his arm. He tapped the child’s little wrinkled nose lovingly with a gloved finger. “You can’t get away from me now.” 

The child let out a meek protest but was not upset. The child liked a lot of things, his dad most of all.

The Mandalorian set the baby down for a quick moment to double check all of his gear. A tug on his pauldrons, securing his chest plate, a jiggle on his old cuisse, readjustment of his vambraces. A swift run through his jetpack, various tools and weaponry, and especially his munitions. Even though Din could feel the perspiration on his brow, he pinched the cloth around his elbow to check that it was indeed the thick woolen suit. Finally, he inspected the small messenger pack for the proper amount of rations and miscellaneous necessities for the little one before slinging it over his shoulder and picking up the baby once more.

As the Razor Crest’s side bay opened, the cold mountain air sucked out all the warmth from what, at least in Din’s mind, was usually his cozy and warm home. He sighed deeply in dread, looking down at the child in his arms for comfort as he began his journey up the mountain.

-

He didn’t like it at first, but the feeling of being bound up so tight was better than any other. The soft cloth covered him from the top of his big head all the way to his little toes, except for his face, and smelled just like his dad. The air was so very very cold, but the cold face combined with his cozy warm body felt nice, so that was okay. The child could also feel his dad’s heartbeat through his big strong arms and on the side of his torso, where the bounty hunter had so lovingly tucked him. The smell of musty blaster powder and bitter iron that surrounded him made the child feel… good. He decided to close his eyes and sleep, having the most wonderful dreams of frogs.

Meanwhile, the Mandalorian was gasping for fresh air from within the stuffy confines of his helmet and sucking in his own snot as it dripped out of his nose. He couldn’t breathe through his nostrils anymore, and there’s no way he could get enough oxygen by doing anything but painfully wheezing. The glass of his visor was fogged and covered in whatever he was sneezing out. If he ever gave a thought to how he looked -- which was rare -- he usually figured he looked intimidating and (hopefully) good. In this moment, he felt like a complete mess.

Din whined pathetically to himself as he continued to drag his feet, one beleagueredly after the other, up what he believed to be a path. But how could he know where to go when everything was covered in snow? His jetpack had run out of fuel pretty quickly after the first hour or so of continuous use, and so it was just more weight pulling Din down. It had saved him some walking time surely, but not enough. At some point, the clouds and their snow flurries cleared and the sky had turned a deep dark purple. Three tiny moons had come up, illuminating the snow in a violet hue. He couldn’t remember how long the day and night cycle on this planet was, and he could hardly think enough to remember why it mattered. The baby was still asleep in the crook of his arm, which was a miracle. He had to switch the kid over to the other arm almost constantly at this point as both were feeling heavier and heavier. If Din had to, he wasn’t sure he could even raise his blaster.

His dragging feet caught on something large underneath the snow and down he went, just barely saving himself from falling on top of the child. Large dark eyes shot open with a quizzical shout from the baby. Din was barely holding himself up on his knees and one hand dug deep into the snow, the other arm curled around the child. He gently set the little bundle down for a moment while he hovered above, using the opportunity to take a break. The only sounds from the entire mountainside were the ragged breaths coming out of the Mandalorian’s voice modulator. 

“Sorry, I-I…” He hadn’t said a word since daylight, and despite his mind being foggy, he was shocked with how terrible he sounded. Din exhaled and fell onto his side dramatically, the child only a few inches away from his chest. The little one’s large dark eyes followed him quietly. He couldn’t help but smile at his absurdity. 

“I hope,” he said between sniffs, “you’re having fun.” 

The child didn’t respond.

Din crudely pushed his helmet off with one hand, as the other was pinned under his body, and dug his bare head into the snow. He pulled more from around the child onto his snotty face, up his clogged nose, through his greasy hair, and into his dry mouth. Despite his obvious personal and cultural attachments to his signature beskar headwear, it was truly blissful to feel the snow on his feverish skin. He sneezed and relished the freedom of watching all the nastiness float away in the mountain breeze instead of breathing it back in.

The child watched closely as Din scrubbed his face and hair with snow. He had started to see the Mandalorian without the helmet only recently. It had taken the child a few nights of confused crying to finally understand that nice metal dad and the tan hairy face were the same person. The baby still felt uneasy though, since the man never had the helmet off for very long besides sleeping, and he always seemed terribly nervous about it. His adoptive father looked pretty happy this time though... The child cooed for attention. 

The Mandalorian ruffled through his hair to get the snow out while eyeing the kid. 

With his free hand, he made a rough snowball and set it on the baby’s chest with a smirk to see what he would do. At first the child giggled, but he began to whine as he couldn’t bite it or pick it up. Din pinched some snow between his fingers for the kid to eat. However, the child was adamant, presumably about touching it himself with his constrained little hands.

Din shook his head. “Sorry, no.” He felt uneasy about unwrapping the child in this wintry hell. There were so many things that could go wrong, and the kid was definitely not wearing proper cold-weather attire. Din continued to shake his head no as he dragged the underside of his arm against his wet nose.

The child wasn’t listening and continued to escalate the whining fit as he tried to violently wriggle out of his warm cocoon prison.

“Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” the Mandalorian murmured, pulling the child closer in an attempt to calm him. The baby began to cry in frustration, shaking and wheezing as it sobbed. Din felt his heart lurch watching the poor little thing cry so hard. 

“... Alright, alright, here,” he spoke as calmly as he could in his defeat, unraveling the cloak to the point where it was simply a loose blanket. The child softened slightly but was worked up beyond the point of being satiated by touching the snowball. The bounty hunter slumped back into the snow, the child still shaking and crying as it laid on his beskar chestplate.

Din had one more idea, but… It was something he hadn’t done in a long time. Intuition, or something else deep inside of him, told him he needed to. That it would help, that it was natural. It wasn’t natural for a Mandalorian, though.

No matter what was natural or not, Din couldn’t bear to see the child crying like this. He pulled the bundle towards his neck for a tight embrace and quickly kissed the baby’s forehead. The child suddenly went silent as the bounty hunter pulled a few inches away, both of them in shock. 

Din pulled the corners of his mouth apart in nervous terror, thinking that he surely did something wrong. The baby’s eyes, still brimming with tears, were unflinchingly glued to the Mandalorian’s. The child made a short, questioning babble, emphasizing the end with a long blink.  

“Wh… What does that mean?” Din whispered honestly, tearing up himself.

The child cooed expectantly. 

Din paused in doubt, before craning down slightly to give the child another forehead kiss. He held onto this one for longer by some force of instinct, and the baby hummed. 

The Mandalorian pulled away again and saw the baby’s eyes flutter happily. He set his head back in the snow with a blank expression on his face. The child chirped and began to bat at the snow with tiny fists.

After a few moments of reflecting on what he’d just done, Din was still speechless. He brought a trembling hand to his own face and brushed lightly over his nose and lips, fingers finding their way to pick at the stubble on his jawline. He hadn’t kissed or been kissed since that morning, so many years ago, right before his parents… Outside of the basement doors, right there. The last time he’d ever seen them, the last time he... Din dug his palms into his eyes, trying to physically block out the images and feelings that were rushing back to him.

“No, no no, noo…,” he whispered to himself. His eyes watered and the tightness in his chest felt like it could burst. 

“Nope,” the bounty hunter said weakly, but with a strong resolve, as he sat up suddenly. “We’re moving on.”

The child yelped as the Mandalorian haphazardly re-wrapped him, albeit not as tightly as before. Din wiped the inside of his helmet clean with some snow and his cloak. He glanced down at the small green face looking up at him from the crook of his elbow, and then back to the helmet. He squeezed his eyes shut, tight enough so that he could hear the strain in his muscles and see only white flashes. Din quickly gave the child one last quick peck on the forehead before opening his tired eyes and donning his beskar once more.

-

Weather moves in without warning at these altitudes. What was once a freezing, but bright, cloudless night became a dark, snowy one with snowflakes the size of five-hundred credit ingots. The beam from Din’s helmet light lit up the snow like stars, crashing and blowing every which way against him as he tried to stay strong. His focus kept him from succumbing to the weariness of his feverish body or the memories of the past that dug at the back of his mind. It had only been another fifteen or twenty minutes since the clan of two had resumed their journey up the mountain when they came upon the entrance of the temple ruins.

The Mandalorian pressed his back against the frozen stone wall that circled the area, taking a moment to prepare himself for whatever he may find inside. He pulled up on the cloth covering the child’s face to find it sleeping peacefully. He smiled softly and sighed, hoping that nothing he was about to do would wake his little one.

Din entered the temple grounds defensively, scanning the area with his blaster and the child held closely to his side. He didn’t see any heat signatures on his visor amongst the village surrounding the temple itself, but perhaps he would find something of interest inside what structures remained. He approached one of the huts that still had a semi-intact thatch roof, finding a shelf with various bits of pottery and paper scraps, wicker baskets, and a burned charcoal pit on the ground. In the roofless hut next door, he found a loom and a half-finished robe that had been bleached by time and exposure. The village was quiet and unmoving save for fluttering crystals and the crunch of snow under his boots, but to Din, that silence was overwhelming. The empty doorways left ajar, the bowls forgotten on tables with what may have once been filled with a meal untouched, the fallen mitten waiting for a hand to keep warm. What happened here seemed all too familiar, too much like his worst dreams. It was what was left behind after something terrible.

He holstered his blaster and sprinted towards the temple in the center of all the ruins of these people’s -- of Din’s and his parents’ -- once peaceful lives. He could nearly hear the murmurs, the clinking of metal tools, the sizzle of grills, the soft babble of discussions, the banality and domesticity of the souls that once called this place home. And now it was cursed and empty, devoid of all life and filled with a terrible silence. It was everything he always feared his old home had become. A cold reminder of thousands of tears, stuck in a place that time left behind and was doomed to never be happy again. The Mandalorian had assumed this fate, all but resigned himself to bear the burden of being the one who had to carry these painful memories to his grave. 

His run slowed before he stopped completely on the stairs leading to the temple proper, and stood still. “I can’t keep doing this,” he told himself softly under his breath. He turned around to face the ruined village and sat on the stair steps. “I can’t,” he repeated, taking a moment to inhale... and exhale.

Tears burned down Din’s cheeks as he allowed his memories to play out in his mind’s eye as he looked over the village before him. The good memories, of early mornings when he wanted to play with the other children but his mother made him eat breakfast first. Memories of the sweet cadence of his mother’s voice when she sang to him in the bath. Of him laughing and sitting on his father’s shoulders as they shopped at the bazaar. But also, the bad memories… memories of the bazaar aflame and besieged. The memory of his parent’s tearful goodbyes. These memories, good and bad, made him feel even worse, as he couldn’t even fully remember what his parents looked like anymore. Just hazy figures in blood red clothes, shutting him inside the cellar doors.

Letting the past wash over him and drown him in its weight and loss and sorrow felt terrible, but… Din also felt better, in a way, to let it out. The child awoke to find himself tucked underneath his father’s chin, with trembling arms wrapped tightly around him. He let out a squeak and crawled closer into the Mandalorian’s scarf.

“I’m sorry,” Din whispered as he pulled the child away from his neck and down into his lap. The helmet once again came off, but only briefly so that he could dry his cheeks and wipe his nose. The child wriggled his arms free from the loose cloth, waving to be picked up. Din smiled as he rubbed his tender eyes. He leaned down to kiss the child’s nose, letting his thoughts run free, before replacing his helmet and obliging the child’s desire.

The child giggled blissfully, lovingly looking up at the Mandalorian as the mythosaur pendant poked out of the cloth around his neck. Little green hands opened and closed expectantly.

“Anything for you,” Din said softly as he pulled the infant close and stood back up, facing away from the village. He tucked the child back into his left shoulder, turning his head to the side as an extra support as they ascended the stairs to the temple. The child purred and began to babble excitedly. 

Din smiled playfully, his smile tugging at his still raw eyes. “Oh, you don’t say?”

The temple’s engraved wooden doors were on the floor and splintered in the middle, as if they’d been rammed down. The Mandalorian carefully stepped over the carved faces of stalwart protectors and the swirls of a written language he had never seen before, aiming his blaster and headlamp into the depths of the darkness ahead. The temple was pitch black inside, save the one beam of light. The child’s continued babbles echoed off the ceilings above, which the bounty hunter noticed were covered in an intricate web of peeling paint.

“Is there anyone here?” Din asked, his modulated voice rippling off the stone walls again and again. He knew it was unlikely, as there still weren’t any heat signatures, but there could always be droids. 

After a few moments of silence, he holstered his blaster and began to rifle through a nearby bookshelf. Every book, every page, everything was written in this unfamiliar language. The font was like water, squiggly lines or swirls flowing from one line to the next. Din searched through every book for something he could recognize: a different language, a picture, a doodle in the margins, anything. He found nothing on every bookshelf, table, and altar.

“Seriously?” Din felt his temper rising and he suppressed the urge to turn one of the old wooden tables into a bonfire with a simple flick of his wrist.

Having cleared the main temple area, he walked along the edges, brushing his free hand against the walls. The cold from the stone seeped into his glove, until, it suddenly didn’t. Din backtracked, realizing that part of the stone wall was painted wood, with a small metal handle near the floor, and was covered in the same peeling pattern as the ceiling. This was the first closed door he’d seen in this whole cursed place and it set him on edge.

The bounty hunter needed both of his hands, one to open the door and one for his blaster, but he didn’t want to risk setting the child down in the cold pitch blackness of the temple. Din pulled the full length of his cloak over his shoulder, wrapping the child in it and then tucking the remainder snugly in his tool belt. Using a rope from his small messenger sack, he secured the make-shift baby sling to his beskar chestplate.

“You good?” he whispered. 

The child cooed softly. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Din crouched down to the metal handle, his finger on the trigger of his blaster. He took in a deep breath before pulling up on the handle, -- harder than he expected he’d have to -- which caused the wooden panel to swung up wildly. 

A dark figure came forward out of the opening, seeming to lunge at Din. The Mandalorian’s instincts pulled him sideways, to protect the child strapped to his chest, and he didn’t hesitate to repay the figure in equal violence with his blaster. A familiar red flash momentarily filled the room with light. The body fell down to the floor and silence returned.

Immediately, Din knew that this was a corpse, and quickly turned the baby around in the sling so that it was facing his chest. The corpse was of a human woman, with bluish-gray skin and far too gaunt to have been alive anytime recently. She was wearing a robe similar to the unfinished one he’d seen earlier, except this one was brown and untouched by the elements behind the safety of this faux wall.

He turned his attention to the mysterious hidden cove. However, it was nothing more than a small closet with some empty jugs and pots, nothing more.

“Of course,” Din sighed.

The bounty hunter came back to the corpse, which had fallen face down after he’d shot her. It was curious, these were the only remains he’d seen. Although, with animal scavengers and the thick blanket of snow covering everything, he really couldn’t be surprised. He grabbed her stiff shoulders and flipped the corpse over. He was taken aback by how… alive she looked, besides the color of her skin. Her jet black hair still looked so soft and her features were frozen by the cold; her eyes squeezed shut and her mouth in a grimace as her lips contracted over her teeth. He noticed two blaster shots: one from him just now on her neck, and the one that killed her however many years ago on her stomach. Din wondered if his own corpse may have been similarly discovered in that cellar years later, in some alternate timeline where the Mandalorians hadn’t saved him from the super battle droid.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by the woman’s hands, frozen around what she clutched onto in her last moments. Her right hand held a metal tube, a grip of sorts, that had a couple buttons and a small blue glowing crystal on the inside. Din wasn’t quite sure what it was, but he pried the corpse’s fingers off the tube regardless. He carefully stowed it away into his messenger pack next to a few books he saved, one of the many with the water-like writing. He could figure out what it all meant later.

Her left hand held a crumpled piece of paper, yellowed by time and the decay of her flesh. The Mandalorian carefully removed the paper and opened it. “Would you look at that,” he said to himself, finding the words on the page were written in Basic.

Margraeth, my sweetling. They are coming. Good-bye. 

May the Force be with you.

All my love, L

Din read over the note again and again, mildly interested in the questions it brought but frustrated with its lack of answers or, frankly, its relevance to what he’d come here to find. Whoever wrote this, L he supposed, knew what fate was coming for this temple. L knew they were all going to die. How? And who were They, where were they coming from? What was this Force? But most importantly, to Din at least, did all of these Jedi sorcerers really leave nothing behind but ruins and rubble, except for books in a dead language and this one little meaningless scrap of paper? He read the note one last time, searching for some kind of clue that he wasn’t going to find, before folding it back up carefully and tucking it into one of the water books.

A deep sigh escaped him, seeming to come from his very soul. Din was so very tired, and wholly discouraged. This was his first non-bounty hunting mission, where the priority was his foundling, and he felt that it had all failed miserably. He shivered in the cold dampness of the temple and sneezed. The child chirped in response, appearing to be cozy and warm. Unfortunately, the beskar chestplate between them prevented the Mandalorian from sharing in that warmth. 

Din glanced back down at the woman’s corpse, before he walked back out towards the village. His thoughts stayed on her, though. The remains of Margraeth, an enemy Jedi sorcerer who died of a blaster wound from some unknown They, who surely had powers like those wielded by his foundling. The power which continued to be a mystery, since not one damned thing in these frozen ruins had given him anyth --

“The power…” he said aloud, trying to connect his thoughts. He found a fairly intact hut, with a roof and functional doors and windows. Once inside, gloved fingers worked at the knots in the rope securing the child to his chest. Din pulled the baby out, holding it in front of his helmet in the light to gauge his responses. 

“They are coming,” Din said with a straight face. 

The child didn’t respond really, just suckled on his own finger.

“May the Force be with you.” 

The child blew a raspberry and giggled, perking his ears.

“May the Force be with you?” Din repeated, his voice going up an octave at the end.

The child didn’t appear to respond with any certainty, continuing to blow raspberries.

The Mandalorian sighed in defeat. He thought he was onto something, but there was really no way to be sure. And in any case, his foundling did best when there are few expectations. Trying to elicit some omniscient response from a magic baby was just foolish, but Din wasn’t keeping up with appearances, so what did it matter? 

The hut was made suitable for their overnight stay with a few paddings of the drafty windows and doors, and a nice fire. The water and food rations he had taken along were finished off with a satisfactory burp from father and son. It was all Din could do to not let his mind drift to who used to live here or the last time the fire pit had been used. After taking the empty jetpack off his back, he settled in for an uneasy bout of sleep on the cold dirt floor with the child cooing softly from the bed of cloaks and cloths beside him.

Only a handful of hours later, the bright daylight and its even brighter reflections off of the snow kept Din from getting any more rest, even if he’d wanted it. The trek down the mountain was impressively easier than going up, with the Mandalorian and his sleeping charge making it back to the Razor Crest just at midday.

“Ohhh,” Din hummed, glad to see that nothing had happened to his ship. For once.

After closing the cargo bay doors, Din jumped up to the cockpit and turned on the auxiliary solar generator for lights and to heat the cabin space up. He had meant to turn right around towards the Crest’s small kitchen, but noticed a few blinking communication lights. He sighed, setting the child down in his regular spot, so that he could catch up.

A few flicks of switches on the comm panel, and he was connected with whoever wanted to talk to him so badly.

“Mando?” asked a familiar voice.

“Greef,” Din responded blankly, but kindly.

“Ah, Mando, finally! I found another lead on this Jedi business. Why don’t you come back to Nevarro and we can talk details?”

Din rubbed the back of his neck while he mulled over his words, slowly turning left in his seat towards the child. “Right now?”

“Well, sure, why not? You can also come see our progress in rebuilding the guild! Cara has some fun things to show you from the scavenging she’s been doing.”

“But I…” Din trailed off as he continued to look at his foundling, feeling equally tired but content. “I can come back in a few days, probably a week.”

“What?” Greef exclaimed, which caused the child to wake. The baby immediately saw that they were back home and reached his arms out, bubbly and happy and pure. “Don’t you go disappearing on me again. We just --”

Din smiled underneath his helmet, holding his finger over the power button for his communication feeds. “Sorry, gotta go. Something came up.”

[shreddedparchment]

The End of the World Pt.13

Missing Thor With Steve and Vex

Pairing: Thor x Reader

Word Count: 3,062

Masterpost

Warnings: None

A/N: I know, two posts in one day, I know. I’m crazy. I can’t help it. This story is running away from me! I hope it’s not too overwhelming. And I hope you like it. If you would like to listen to the song featured in this chapter you can hear it here. Thanks for reading and please let me know if you enjoyed it and what you enjoyed! xoxo

As you sit chewing slowly you don’t notice the way that Steve keeps his eyes on you. It had been an entire two weeks since Thor had gone and you were beside yourself missing him. You also have that terrible guilt that gnaws at you whenever you wonder if he'll be back soon. You were the one to send him off.

You can hear Bruce and Tony conversing quietly across the table from you and Steve.

Their words were lost on you however, as you were choosing to ignore them. Though you’d thought it would be difficult to adjust to the massive amount of input that you were getting now, Steve had been very instructional on how to help tune things out.

You sit cross legged on the floor of the gym, waiting as Steve moves to a small panel in the wall and presses a few buttons.

“No matter how long I live here, I still can’t get used to all this tech stuff. I feel like such a dip stick  for admitting it but I think I need a little help." He looks at you sheepishly, a very small embarrassed smile curling the corners of his lips.

You lean back on your hands, returning his smile with one of your own. Then you remember that Thor would have just mashed the buttons on the screen until something happened.

You look down at your lap and feel your eyes burn as you try and erase the image of your lovable fool at a loss with technology.

“Y/N?” Steve's voice is full of worry but he doesn’t crowd you. He knows, somehow, that you need your space.

“I’m fine. F.R.I.D.A.Y. can you put on something soothing? Some classical maybe but not too stuffy so maybe not the original?”

“Oh.” Steve moves towards you and slowly lowers himself down in front of you so that his knees are only a few inches away from your own. “I forgot I could do that. It’s been a while since I’ve been home.”

“Of course. Tony has a Get Her In the Mood playlist. Shall I play that?” You stare at the panel and choke on your laugh as Steve shakes his head.

“No. Don’t play that. Just play something relaxing.” Steve says smoothly.

“Sure thing, Cap. After examining your heartrates and tonal inflections, I think this might be just right.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s words are answered with nervous silence as you and Steve both wait to see what she’s chosen.

Both of you are pleasantly surprised as a pretty music box tune begins to play filling the gym with sleep worthy notes. It's definitely classical music but you don’t know what.

“Not bad. It'll do. Alright, now Y/N, I want you to relax. Sit up, hands on your thighs, straight back.”

You do as Steve says and settle yourself, placing your hands flat against your thighs.

Steve scoots a bit closer and reaches forward to turn your hands over so that they rest on your lap palms up.

“There, like that. Now close your eyes.” He says it quietly. Maybe it’s the music playing but it makes both of you quieter, almost whispering. “And take a deep, slow breath. This exercise is something you can do when you begin to feel overwhelmed. It'll help clear your mind and also help you get a bit more control on your new abilities. Well, the ones we share. I want you to try and do this every day, twice a day, for at least a month. Maybe two if you really struggle.”

“What exactly is this supposed to help with?” You sound slightly sleepy but it's probably just the closed eyes and lullaby-like music.

“Well for one, the hearing. I know you’ve probably been hearing everything lately. Can you hear Rocket in the Benatar?”

You listen carefully and yes, you can. “He's pacing again. Listening to the Zune. Dust in the Wind by Kansas?”

You frown and open your eyes to stare in the direction of the hangar. How could he listen to that song of all the songs he could possibly be listening to? Rude!

“Concentrate, Y/N. It's in poor taste but I can understand his grief. Now, focus on us. Close your eyes.”

You turn your frown on Steve and find his facial expression stern. Another order. Not a request.

You shut your eyes and sigh. Forcing yourself to relax again is difficult.

“Focus on my voice. Hear only my voice. If that’s too hard then focus on the music or my breathing. Focus hard so that it's the only thing you can hear.” Steve breathes in and out, his breathe warm as it wafts in your direction.

You sit there, trying to focus on the music and failing. Suddenly you feel a warm fingertip press against the space between your brow. It smoothes out the crease forcing your face to relax.

“Focus.” Steve whispers deeply. His voice is so even. Like smooth ironed cotton. Soft but structured and resilient.

You focus on his voice but when it fades, you focus on his breathing. In and out, slowly and softly. Gentle breaths to fill his lungs and then out it goes. The music comes into focus along with his breathing and slowly every other sound falls away. You can no longer hear Rocket or his terribly chosen song. You can’t hear Pepper and Tony in his den or Bruce in the library. The marching cadets outside fade away and soon the only thing you hear is Steve's even breath and the music. It flows through you smoothly like wind through fog. You dissipate into the air becoming one with the room and the very relaxing atmosphere. You’re falling through clouds when you suddenly feel warm arms embracing you.

“Y/N?” Steve's voice almost lulls you back into the pit of peace but you remember that you’re in the gym.

You open your eyes and find yourself leaning to your right against the left side of Steve's wide chest. He's facing you, balanced on his knees as he holds you steady with his right arm around your shoulder and his left hand on your right shoulder.

“Easy. Maybe this song wasn’t such a good choice?”

Your eyes try to focus on where you are and Steve's voice fills your mind. You stare into his storm blue eyes and feel suddenly exposed.

You’re not sure what it is you’re seeing as Steve’s lips part. There's a hesitation in his eyes and you’re so surprised by the lurch in your chest his gaze gives you that you sober up immediately.

“Woah, sorry.” You sit up straight and give your head a shake. The music isn’t playing anymore.

“It's alright. The first few times are going to be tough. You’ll probably fall asleep a couple times.” Steve gets to his feet and begins to adjust his shirt.

Was he being fidgety? No. Not possible.

“I think it’s the sudden quiet. You’ll adjust.” Steve doesn’t look at you again. “I think it’s almost dinner time. I’ll go check to see what Tony wants to do about dinner.”

You watch Steve go feeling unsure and reluctant. As you get to your feet you grab your water bottle and take a quick sip before heading towards the gym doors. As you approach the panel that Steve had been messing with you stop to stare at the screen.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. what was that song you were playing?” You wait for her to display the title but she says it aloud as well.

“The song playing was a simplified and shortened version of Beethoven's Romance No.2 for Violin and Orchestra. The music box version.”

You stare at the screen, immobilized by the words you see: Romance No.2.

“Hey, you okay?” Steve leans over a bit and places his left arm on the back of your chair.

You turn to look at him and nod. “Yeah, I’m good.” You force a quick smile then turn to look at Tony and Bruce, abandoning your pasta as you let their conversation in.

“Its vexing. I’m not even sure I could properly explain what I think she’s doing. We could do more tests I suppose.” Bruce says, he has also abandoned his food.

“Vexing,” Tony repeats. “Say that’s a good name. How do you like it, Y/N?”

“How do I like what?” You’re annoyed that they were talking about you. They’re always talking about you.

“That word, Vexing, as a pseudonym. I think it has a good ring to it.” Tony looks to Bruce expectantly then at you and Steve, both of which wear serious and unamused expressions. “No? We can shorten it. Vex. Ooh, I like that better. That'll be your Avenger name. We all have one.”

“Thor doesn’t have one.” Bruce counters.

“Vision doesn’t either.” Steve says.

“Whatever, don’t rain on my parade. It’s a good name.” Tony says quickly making a rapid waving motion with his hands as if he’s swatting away their arguments.

His words however, shift your annoyance to surprise. “I’m an Avenger?” You look at Steve who is staring at his drink with troubled eyes, then back to Tony.

“Yeah. I though that was clear when I told you we needed the hands?” Tony hold out his right hand as he shrugs, saying duh with his body instead of his words. “What do you think we're training you for?”

You open your mouth to say something but you have nothing to really say. You bring your hands down under the table and shove them between your knees as you look at Steve again and find him smiling softly at you. His scruffy beard obscures his mouth but you’ve learned what he looks like when he’s smiling. He needs a shave.

“You don’t have to be an Avenger, Y/N. It's…dangerous.” He says the words and you’re sure he means them but his smile makes you not care.

“I know it is.” You reply with a shrug. “But I do wanna help.”

“Of course you do, Vex.” Tony says. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. get all the prototype armor plans and the ones in development sent to my lab. I gotta get started on your suit.”

Tony gets to his feet and begins to head out but stops when Pepper walks in wearing a stunning red pant suit, her hair pulled into a long red ponytail. “What’s for dinner? Hey, where are you going? You haven't even touched your food.”

She taps Tony's shoulder and points at the table. Tony turns to look at it and gives her a grimace. “I’m not hungry. I gotta go work on Vex's suit.”

Pepper's face animates with surprise as she listens and registers what Tony has just said. “You've gotta work on whose suit?”

“Vex.” Tony repeats.

“Who is Vex?”

“Y/N is.” Tony gestures towards you with his head and looks to you with a proud smile.

“Why are we calling Y/N, Vex?”

“Because her enhancement, her manipulation thing is vexing. She vexes Bruce and she vexes me and she didn’t like Vexing. So I shortened it.”

“Oh, Tony, no.” Pepper screws up her nose, shaking her head with her dislike for your new moniker.

“Hun, I gotta go.” Tony takes her by the shoulders and pulls her in to kiss her cheek as she continues to look displeased and shake her head. He moves around her and heads towards the lab.

Pepper looks from you to Steve then back to you. “Tony, wait, we need to rethink that name.”

She hurries after him leaving you, Steve, and Bruce alone with your food.

You sit back, relaxing in your chair as you think about the fact that you're an Avenger. Untested and zero mission experience but an Avenger just the same. Though you wanna smile, you’re a little sad that it comes as a results of losing so many people. So many members of the team were lost because of Thanos.

You feel warm gentle fingers tickle the skin of your bare left shoulder. You look at it and see Steve’s index finger and thumb gently glide across your shoulder. You look at him and find him watching you seriously.

“I mean it, Y/N, we don’t expect you to join just because you're different now. This life isn’t an easy one and despite what Tony thinks it’s never really over. There will always be someone trying to tear our world down and we’ll always have to fight.”

“That’s why I wanna help.” You give Steve a long stare.

He finally sighs, his worry clear in his eyes. You can tell he’s thinking a million thoughts and you almost ask him to tell you what they are when you remember you’re not alone. Which for a shocking second, embarrasses you.

You turn your eyes to Bruce who is watching not you, not Steve, but Steve’s two fingers, still gently pressed against the skin of your shoulder with the strangest expression you’ve ever seen Bruce wear. Something between confusion and disbelief and also a bit of an a-ha.

He realizes you're watching and hurries to turn his gaze back onto his food. He pokes at it, not eating, as you slump your shoulders a little more so that Steve is no longer touching you. You feel weightless suddenly and guilt rushes to take its place.

“Why does my ability vex you, Bruce?” You’re eager to distract yourself from the panicked thoughts of what Bruce might be thinking about what he thinks he sees across from him.

“Well, when we had you make Steve do things in the lab we noticed that there was no change to his brain function or his body's chemical composition.”

“Are you saying that it was a trick?” You wonder, suddenly very invested in the conversation.

“No, just the opposite actually. And you aren’t actually controlling someone so it’s not any type of compulsion. What it looks and feels like…” He puts his hands up as of he's holding an invisible ball as his eyes find a spot on the ceiling to try and work out his thought.

“It feels like being talked into something. Like you suddenly realize that this, what you’re telling us to do, is what we’d rather do. It's deep. When I think back to my transformation all I remember is feeling that being the Hulk was the only thing that sounded like a good idea at the time. I know I felt that way because of you but it still doesn’t feel like you made me do something I didn’t want to.” Bruce was excited again, his eyes alight with the wonder of his experience and what it means about your ability.

“That makes sense.” Steve interjects. “When I jumped off of the roof, I wasn’t obeying a command. I just suddenly thought it would he a good idea to jump. And when you asked me why I jumped, I really didn’t know because I hadn’t made the choice myself.”

You let their words sink in as you watch each of them deal with their own experiences of what you’d done to them. You think of Thor and what you made him say and what you made him do and your heart damn near breaks again.

“That’s actually a really good way to look at it.” Bruce tells Steve, wagging his finger. “She's thinking for us. She makes the decision and we obey. It's like for the short time that she influences us, she's actually a part of our brain.”

Bruce’s expression would have had you laughing were you not completely shocked by his brainstorming conclusion. His eyes were wide. His mouth agape. A small crazed spark had erupted behind his eyes. He’s frozen like that and you look to Steve to see if he’s as worried as you are.

He isn't. He's smiling, his wide, perfect teeth showing and the smile reaches his eyes making the storm blue shine.

“I gotta go tell Tony.” Bruce suddenly says and disappears down the hallway at the end of the atrium.

As you and Steve are left alone again you pick up your fork and begin to fiddle with your pasta. Despite feeling like you understand your ability better, you feel wretched for what you made them and Thor do. What if you really ordered him away and he never came back? He had no reason to when he you made him feel as if leaving was the best decision to make.

You feel Steve's hand on your shoulder. “Y/N?”

You can feel your resolve to not cry crumbling as he comforts you. “Why are you so nice to me? I’m a terrible person. Thor was right, I’m a complete fool and I was a terrible fiancé for making this choice alone.”

Steve sits up, having been leaning towards you, and twists in his chair so that he can face you. He reaches around to grab the far corner of the seat of your chair, his hand brushing your thigh as he pulls you around to face him.

You hide your face behind your hands as the tears finally begin to fall.

You hear him sigh and he reaches up to pull your hands down and away from your face.

“Y/N, you are not a fool. You are a bit reckless and definitely suffer from a bit of impulse control. You have a temper.” Was he supposed to be making you feel better? “But you’re not a fool. If Thor doesn't come back and beg you to marry him then he's the fool.

“He doesn’t know what it feels like to wake up every morning and want to make a difference but lack the strength to do it. I did it for love of country. You did it simply for love. Give him time and he’ll see the brave and fearless woman that you are.”

Damn him, he's good. You sniffle as you let his words give you the comfort that he intends and bite on your bottom lip.

“Ready to go blow off some steam?” He asks, smiling kindly.

“Yeah.”

“Alright then. Come on.” He slaps his thighs and stands up before offering you his hands.

You take them and pull yourself up onto your feet. He releases you and begins to lead the way to the gym.

“Tonight, we’ll start you on some Judo.” He looks at you, pride beaming off of his face.

“Am I ready for Judo?” You ask slightly worried you may not have enough base training to pick it up easily.

“Y/N, you were born ready.”

@bionic-buckyb, @mdgrdians, @ulired, @biawol, @markusstraya, @queenof-wakanda

[jo-the-schmo]

It Smells Like Rain. Part 1

A/N: This is the first fic I’ve written for MCU, so honestly a lot of stuff is gonna be weird. I kinda mixed universes and make mentions to things that have happened because those movies are too good to not? I promised my friend @aurasphereriolu2 I would write this so I hope you enjoy this Thor x gender neutral reader. 

Warnings: Swearing, puns, not much else honestly?

Word count: 6,855

Your nose instinctively scrunched up when you stepped out of the sleek, nondescript, black car that took you into the city. The driver stepped out as well, along with your new sorta boss, Nick Fury. “It smells disgusting here.” You almost felt like gagging, the swirling scent of smog screamed into your nostrils. Nick let out a chuckle that didn’t really suit his character. “You’ll get used to it.” He motioned for you to follow him and the driver into the Avengers tower. You adjusted the band on your fingerless gloves as you all made it past security and into a reflective elevator. You decided to break the silence, “So, got any tips for a newbie?” You said with a hint of sarcasm. But Fury seemed to actually ponder that question. “If you don’t break anything and are okay with dark humor, you’re in with Tony. Just be nice to both of our local spiders and neither should have a problem with you. Don’t be an asshole to Cap. Keep it calm with Bruce and Barnes. And just exist around Thor, then you should be fine.” “Wow, last one sure sounded easy.” You snorted. “He is.” The elevator dinged, sliding open its doors to reveal a spacious room. Extremely modern, stylish, and only semi professional. You were surprised the room was empty, that’s a rare sight for a place that’s supposed to be extra protective. “Alright kids, you know I called a meeting, get your asses in gear.” Fury’s voice shifted to being almost as dramatic as his jacket. Seriously, that thing cannot be too practical. It sure looks cool though...I kinda want one. It only takes a few moments for the room to fill with people. The first of which being the famous Spider-Man. “Sorry! I had to find my mask!” He lets out a charismatic laugh. Why do I feel the strange urge to protect him with my life? Next is the Captain himself, with a sweet grin and some semblance of facial hair going on. “Hello! I’d like to welcome you to the Av-“ he’s soon cut off by another man, Tony Stark. “That would be my line, Colonel Purple Mountains Majesty.” He takes a bite of a...peach? Is that just a straight up peach? “Don’t steal my thunder.” “And you shouldn’t steal mine!” A booming voice echos from down the hall as a tall, blond man comes behind Tony and puts a strong arm around him. You recognize him as Thor. He’s bigger? In person? Weird. “Can we stop doing this cheesy lead up as a way to cleverly introduce ourselves? You all are giving me a migraine.” Black Widow says with disdain as she strolls in through a different hallway, reading something on a hologram tablet. “I’ll second that.” Bruce Banner mumbles as he adjusts his glasses. Has he...slept? Recently? He looks like he’s dying a little bit. Bruce looks around. “Where are the others at?” “Probably getting into trouble.” Thor sighs with a smile on his face. You cannot read what emotion he’s feeling. “Hopefully the good doctor isn’t.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Alright, enough of family sitcom intro sequence, I don’t care where the hell the others are because they aren’t my responsibility. We have important matters to discuss.” Fury gesture a hand towards you, as if he were presenting you. “I’d like for you all to welcome our newest agent. On normal circumstances, you all would’ve met her already. But unfortunately, those aren’t our circumstances. This is Agent L/N. They’re here to help deal with our recent conundrum...” Fury trails off. “Oh! You mean Metalhead?” Spider-Man suggests. “That is...not the name we were going with but yes, Metalhead.” You can’t see the facial expressions on whoever is wearing that mask but you can feel him smirking. Tony walks over to you in confident but effortless stride. Everything about him seemed very natural and blasé. You were surprised by the fact that apparently he enjoyed Metallica, at least that’s what his shirt suggested. “So what’s your deal? I need to come up with a clever nickname.” And apparently he’s extremely self aware. He extended his hand to you. “Got a name?” “Y/N.” You shook his hand with a firm grip before Fury answered his earlier questions. “Agent L/N is going to aiding you in your pursuit against ‘Metalhead’. I picked them specifically for the job because- well, maybe I should let them show you.” After hearing multiple people agree, you were ushered over to the center of the room with everyone surrounding you in a circle. You took the glove off your dominant hand and let in a deep breath. At least the air in here is a little cleaner... You looked around the room for a good place. Thor took especial interest in what you were doing. Finally you found something that wouldn’t break.   You spotted a bonsai tree by the large window and gently showed your hand in its direction. The veins in your arm began to glow and in an instant, the bonsai began to grow rapidly. Spider-Man latched onto the wall near the elevator as he gasped in surprise. You took slow steps  toward the shaping tree. A branch lowered itself down to you and allowed you to step onto the trunk. It didn’t buckle under your weight because of your infused power. You waved your hand and the tree extended, moving you back to the center of the circle. Everyone was thoroughly surprised by the realization. “You’re a mutant?” Widow asked. Banner seemed confused. “Wait, why a mutant? Aren’t they kinda a different department or something?” He asked, eyes squinted. “Well I’m not a teenager anymore, and let’s just say that the whole setting doesn’t fit me anymore.” You could tell everyone wanted you to elaborate but instead you hopped off the bonsai and waved it away. The tree twisted and shrank back down to its original size, looking completely untouched. “Looks like we got a second green thumb around here.” Tony pointed out. “I hate that.” Cap said with a grimace. “Get them accustomed to the area and I’ll check back in tomorrow so we can go over plans. Tony, play nice, we need them for this.” With that, Fury left with the elevator. “I’d offer to show you around but Bucky asked to train with me after the meeting. Call me Steve, by the way.” I’m gonna call him Rogers. You thought as he quickly left the room.

“Same here, the big guy and I have some-“ Tony pauses. “Spidey, cover your ears.” You raise an eyebrow when you actually see Spider-Man cover the sides of his head with his hands. “Some science shit to work on.” He signals for the ear covering to stop.

“You don’t have to do that y’know? Swearing isn’t a big deal.”

“The fact that you call it swearing means I’m right in my decisions.” Tony pays Bruce’s shoulder and the both of them turn around and open the door to an all glass lab.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N! I have to go work on my suit for a bit, but I’ll be back later to pick your brain!” And with that, he bounced out of the room. He sure is enthusiastic. You turned your attention to the blonde woman in the outfit that matched her personality.

“I just don’t wanna do it. Big, dumb, blonde idiot, you blabber to her for a bit.” She barely looked up from the screen. Thor let out a hearty laugh.

“Don’t mind her, you get used to her.”

“She’s charming.” Though I suppose I’d be in the same mood if this was my everyday. Thor gave you his hand. You slid your glove back on before shaking his hand. His grip was surprisingly gentle for someone so...that.

“My name is Thor Odinson. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise.” You took a deep breath through the nose and suddenly were caught off guard. What’s that...smell? “Rain?” You pondered out loud. Your hand fell back to your side as Thor clapped both his together with a bright smile on his face.

“Ah, you smell that? You must have a good nose, I never hear people comment on that.” He seemed almost excited that someone caught on. “I’m the god of thunder, the scent comes with the deal.” You fell silent for a moment.

“Oh, I’m gonna have to be around you A LOT!” You allowed yourself a sigh of relief. “Do you know how bad the city smells? I hate it! I’m gonna need to set up a greenhouse here or something.”

“Well I can provide the rain if you have an open roof.” Thor spike with delight

“Think Stark will be okay with this?”

“I’d wager so, he’s usually fine with most of our antics.”

“Well I need one anyway, can’t really sleep in a stuffy room with chemicals spilling around me.”

“Let me show you around, it’ll give you an excuse to figure out where your choice of stay will be.” You followed him around for a majority of the day, incidentally learning a lot about him with every floor.

“You seemed the least surprised about my whole, plant thing. Guess it’s not too weird in comparison to being a god.”

“That, and someone in my realm has that exact skill set. Asgard is quite the place.”

“Why is there a hole in the wall there?”

“That would be my brother, Loki. He had a bit of a rat incident, got stuck in the wall.”

“Wow…”

“Yeah, that’s my brother for ya.”

You were able to understand a general layout of the building and knew where your room was supposed to be. But you refused. You didn’t have much sent with you so managed to convince Thor to grab a few bags while you got all your potted plants and made your way to the only space that connected with the outside other than the ground itself. You were fully aware that this area was meant for the helipad but you didn’t care. Thor seemed rather confused, examining you as you flitted about the open, outdoor space.

“You...plan to sleep outside?”

“Fury obviously didn’t get the memo…”

“What memo?”

“I can’t exactly stay inside for too long.” You had him put all the stuff down so he could focus on what you were saying, since he was obviously still perplexed. You ungloved your hand once more to demonstrate. You usually tried to let nature take its course with your plants but for the sake of explanation, made an exception to your rule. With the opposite hand, you carefully extracted a piece of a succulent you were trying to propagate.

“My body is heavily in tuned with the natural world.” You paused and made sure he watched as you placed the small shred of green onto your naked palm. In an instant, the succulent began to grow, and it wasn’t long before it came to its full size. It took 2 seconds. “So much so that I can bring life to something that has long since past. But that comes with a few setbacks on my end.”

“What do you mean?”

“My body itself acts more similar to a plant than a flesh person. I need to be outside a surprising amount. I actually did sleep in the court yard back at Xavier’s. And if I’m being completely honest, my presence out here might help clean the air a bit.” Thor nodded along, he didn’t seem confused anymore, he actually looked quite pleased with what he learned.

“Well, that certainly is a wonderous ability to-“ his hand reaches for your own, the one that held the succulent. You panicked and dropped it to the ground, pulling your hand back just in time to escape Thor’s touch. You hastily put the glove back on as his own hand reeled back in surprise. “I apologize, I certainly did not mean to-“

“No, no! You’re fine, you are all good! Just...just don’t touch my bare hands. My fingers are okay but not my palms or the backs of my hands. Just a safety precaution.”

“Do you mind me asking why exactly?” His words were soft and curious.

“Well, my power generates from certain points on my body. My palms and the soles of my feet. I can pull the power to my fingers and stuff like that, but there’s no guarantee that bare contact won’t just turn whatever I touch into something more...organic? It isn’t intentional, it just happens and I never know when it’s coming so I always cover my palms.”

“That seems rather stressful…”

“Pfft, mine’s a summer breeze compared to some other mutants. As long I’m not stupid and you’re not stupid, it should be okay. Which neither of us are, nor anyone in this building from what I’d guess.” You laughed at your own statement. After all, some of the world’s greatest geniuses are here. But Thor seemed rather surprised by your statement. He quickly shook it off and his usual smile was brought to his face.

“Well, let’s go bother Stark in his lab, you do need somewhere to sleep!”

…

…

…

Your stay with the Avengers has been interesting to say the least. In the time you’ve been there, only 3 days, you have seen 5 windows shatter, a coffee machine literally implode, and have gotten stuck to the wall because Clint (who had just come back after some time off) decided to scare poor Spidey while you got caught in the crossfire of his reaction. There were plenty of good things to come of it though.

You did in fact get your greenhouse, that night actually. You didn’t expect Thor to be so persuasive, but you suppose it’s not too outlandish to see that. Spider-Boy (name pending) also kept to his word. He did find you the next day and ‘picked your brain’ for a bit. He was a nice kid, a smart one too. He never ran out of questions to ask you, but was always very polite about it.

Today, you were in your greenhouse. It wasn’t, gigantic or anything. Not nearly as grandiose as your one back at Xavier. You were glad they kept their word when you requested someone still take care of it. But you were just happy that you had something to work with. You took off your gloves and slid them into your back pocket. With a wave of your hand, two tree limbs exuded from your arms and pushed open the folding roof, careful to not break the glass. This by far was your favorite feature. The glass panes were good enough to allow proper sunlight but something about letting the sun into the small structure whenever you wanted was very nice.

As you got yourself busy, you became lost in thought. You were supposed to come here to help solve the ‘Metalhead’ problem but it hasn’t been talked about since your first day. Furthermore, he’s been keeping a low profile ever since you arrived, it was making you a bit anxious. You wondered what he could be planning. I should talk to Tony and Rogers about it when I get the chance.

“You’re up early!” You heard the voice of the young Spidey as he perched himself on the edge of the greenhouse.

“Early Bird gets the worm, yeah?”

“Oh, worm?” You facepalm. He laughs at your reaction.

“Are you ready to get to work?” For the past 2 days, Spidey has been dropping by to help you with your plants. Apparently he can’t take care of a regular plant to save his life.

“You bet!” He hopped down and put a pair of gloves on over his already covered hands, which never stopped being funny to you. You tried to change up which bed he took care of so that he would learn different things. Today you instructed him on how to care for the few small trees you had inside. One being a peach tree (under Stark’s request). Man likes his peaches, I guess.

The two of you were oddly silent when you worked. This was unusual for him at least because he always had a question to ask. Can you sleep inside? Yes. Why don’t you? Well, my body gets a lot of its energy from being outside in general. Are you telling me you go through photosynthesis? Sort of, the sun does play a part in it but being outside in general keeps me working. Winter is a bit of a struggle but I make it work. Do you need to eat? Yes, I do. Most of my energy comes from being outside but I am still a person. He’d ask a lot about your powers but also about your favorite movies and shows. He was happy to hear that you plan on sticking around in the city to help with air quality. How much clean air do you generate? Hmmm, last time I checked it was about the same amount as 10,000 trees. That’s a lot of damage! Yeah, it is. How exactly does that work? Well, trees can absorb harmful gases and pollutants in the air and filter clean air back out. My skin does the same thing. You almost didn’t notice him finally start talking while you pondered.

“Why do you do this?”

“Hm?” The question was vague but genuine.

“Why do you take care of plants by hand when you can summon them whenever you want?” That was a question nobody had really asked you before. It took you a second to find the right response.

“Well… Where’s the fun in that?” You paused what you were doing and turned to look at him. “There’s no satisfaction in just making something happen. You have to work for it, understand it, create it. My powers are in tuned with nature but I am not nearly as wondrous as the natural world. I just…” You turned back to the amazon lilies.

“Just what?” He asked shyly. You looked at him but continued to plant the lilies.

“You’re a smart boy, Spidey. Why is a smart guy like you asking so many questions?” This is what was really getting to you. Even with his mask on he looked nervous.

“So many of the Avengers are fantastical in some way.”

“Are you telling me you aren’t special right now? Because if you are, I swear, I WILL turn you into a willow tree!”

“I’m sorry! I guess it just...kinda gets to me sometimes? Please don’t turn me into any sort of non sentient organism.”

“Alright...but this is your only warning boy, I’m watching you! You better like yourself or I’ll get upset and you won’t like me when I’m upset!” Spidey made a pfffffffffft noise and laughed.

“You can’t just steal Bruce’s thing!”

“Shhhhhh, don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.” You smiled. He’s a good kid, he shouldn’t feel let down. You made a note to talk to Tony and Rogers about this too. Something made a frantic beeping noise.

“Oh! Sorry! My Aunt is calling. Think we can continue this later?”

“Sure thing, kiddo.” And with your go ahead, he did a sweet flip out of the greenhouse. Can he just not use doors? The curse of being Spider-Boy… you heard a knock on the glass door adjacent from you. In the doorway was the other reason the past few days had been so pleasant. “Visiting my cabin in the woods so soon, Goldie Locks? Figured you’d at least wait till noon.”

“I could say the same for you.” Thor grinned. Thor was...an interesting guy. You weren’t expecting the guy you saw on TV all the time to be quite like this. He was big, loud, and a bit on the dramatic side. But he was also the most gentle person you had ever met. At least around you he was. His voice was always more soothing when it was just the two of you. But this time he sounded a bit more concerned. “I heard what you said to the spider boy.” I knew that name couldn’t be original!

“How much?”

“All that I needed to hear.” He came closer to you, leaning his hip against the desk that converted into your bed. “Why were you up so early?” Nothing seems to get past him. He’s very intuitive.

“I’m...anxious? That’s probably what it is. Sleeping has been a bit of an issue.”

“Why so anxious? Anyway I can help?”

“You’re too sweet.” You sighed and thought for a moment. “I feel like I’m not getting anything done. This is my third day here and the whole reason I’m here hasn’t been brought up once. I feel like I’m just sitting around.” You turned around, resting yourself partially of the edge of the wooden flower bed support, staring down at your hands. You were so lost and thought that you didn’t catch what was happening until the last second. Thor was standing in front of you. Your hands shot back and hit the board, gripping into the clean wood, while he leaned in close.

“Need to stretch your legs for a bit?” The smirk on his face made you blush but also slant your eyes.

“Can you be more specific? Context would be important here.” You gave a forced chuckle.

“Training! I’ve been dying to see you in action and I think I could convince some of the others to come along!” He’s so pretty when he’s enthusiastic.

“I guess? I mean, I’ve got nothing else to do!” Your lips tightened into a thin smile. He pulled himself away and clapped his hands together.

“Excellent! I shall inform the others, see how many participants I can gather. Will I meet you back here?”

“I suppose so…” And with that, Thor left with a little more bounce in his step. You let out a heavy breath and managed to unferel your hands from the planks of wood. You hesitated, but knew you had to see. 2 patches of moss in the shape of flustered hands. “Damnit…”

About 30 minutes pass by the time Thor meets back up with you. He changed from his casual clothes into his battle attire which you had never seen in person. You weren’t entirely sure why your anxiety had gotten worse. This was supposed to be at least a little fun. It was supposed to NOT make you anxious. Maybe I just need to wait till we get there.

“You ready to go?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be!” You literally followed that up with saying ‘ha’ three times. “Who’s coming along?”

“Barnes, the boy, one of Stark’s suits, and I believe Banner is coming as well!” He sure is excited. “Can you fly?”

“What?” You heard a light thud, and suddenly another voice had entered the conversation.

“Mr.Barnes and Mr.Bucky are taking one of the aircrafts. Are you going with them? Because Thor will be hopping around and I’ll be swinging.”

“Yes, what he said.” Thor chuckled and scratched the back of his head.

“Hm, I think I’ll make it just fine if you guys lead the way.” Thor could read the mischievous glint in your eyes. You closed the door of the greenhouse behind you and walked over to the edge of building. You took off your gloves again and attached them to one of your belt loops.

“What are you doing?” They both asked in unison, which was kinda weird.

“You’ll see.” You sang. You shot Thor a wink before you leaned forward and let your body free fall. You heard Spidey exclaim ‘oh shit!’ as you fell. This was one of the benefits that your powers gave you. You smiled as the air built around you. You watched in bullet time as ivy began to coat the ground and up the wall of the Avengers tower. And then the falling stopped. You were completely relaxed as you hung motionless in the air. That is, until you felt something whiz past you and land on the sidewalk about 10 feet below you. Worried eyes looked up at you.

“Are you al-“ he stopped as he noticed what was going on. A cottonwood tree had grown on the side of the structure. The roots sprawled, none going through the building. You hang from an ivy vine that coiled around your left ankle and up your leg, the other one bent as if you were trying to hug your knee. Spidey landed on the trunk above you, clearly stunned.

“How do you stay upside down so long? My head is already starting to hurt.”

“That was so cool!” He exclaimed.

“Thanks kid, you need to teach me how to swing around without the blood rush.” You looked back down at Thor. “You alright down there big guy?”

“Yes, you just gave me a bit of scare.” He brushed off the worry and continued. “At least I have an idea of what to expect during training.” You heard the click of camera and phones going off, people around you were taking pictures. You waved politely for them.

“Lead the way, boys. I’m ready to go!” More vines crawled over the trunk and managed to pull you up, but instead of Boston Ivies, these were littered in yellow flowers. “Black-Eyed Susan’s? Huh, that’s a good one.”

“I could just carry you. Don’t want to waste any energy for training.” Thor suggested.

“Ha! That’s just what you want, buddy. Spidey, lead the way!”

“You got it!” Without skipping a beat, he began to swing away. You took a running start down the winding branches of the tree before they began to carry you. Then you ran again. Your body and powers already sensing your next move, a white willow shot out of the ground. The tall, branching trunk wrapped around a lamp post in multiple directions and caught around your leg, keeping you still for a second. You felt the white and gold specs of energy blow past you, like leaves and petals do in anime and cartoons for some reason that no one talks about. The cottonwood tree and boston ivy on the tower was gone.

“That’s certainly impressive.”

“Just wait until we get to our destination, tall, blonde, and handsome.” You took the opportunity of Thor’s shock and got the fuck out of there. It only took less than an hour to get to an open field where Spidey was waiting since you were essentially running from your consequences.

“Took you two long enough!” The boy said just as you jumped down with Thor following close behind.

“You always need to properly stretch before you do anything physically exerting.” It wasn’t long before you heard a helicopter coming by in the distance. You decided to take a look at your surroundings while it landed. Guess I should’ve figured they all don’t train inside...that wouldn’t really make much sense with their skill sets.

“Sorry we’re late, had to pick up some equipment.” Bruce explained as he came closer to your small group with Bucky in tow.

“Equipment? What do you need equipment for? We’re training.” Thor questioned.

“You all are training, not me. I’m here out of curiosity.”

“He wants to see what they can do.” Bucky pointed at you.

“Exactly. I’ll be over here…” he pointed to the side and began to walk in the direction. But before he made it to his destination, be pulled out something that looked like a beeper, pressed it, and threw it behind him. Thor smirked and said-

“In 3...2...1…” And there it is, pieces of one of Stark’s suits flew in, building itself over where the beeper landed.

“That’s super neat!”

“Eh, that’s an older model that remade for training. Not nearly as cool as his normal suits.” Spidey punctuated.

“Well, let’s not waste anymore of Banner’s time. He’s just as curious as the rest of us.” He smiled at you before raising his voice to everyone else. “Spread out! It’s time to get to work.” Everyone nodded but you had another trick up your sleeve.

“Good luck, boys. I’ll be keeping a BUCKeye on you!” You clapped your hands and pushed them into making circles reverse of each other. The grass on the ground grasped at your feet. Dandelions crawled up your form. Then, you were nowhere to be seen. Because you were literally underground. Last time I used that was to get out of a reeeeaaaaalllly awkward conversation. Quick moves!

You never know where your powers will take you, they do their own thing sometimes. You shot out of the ground and onto your feet, surprisingly not dirty. Nice job roots, you’re getting better at that. The first thing you noticed was a pond. Cool beans! It’s like a little park here! Why the hell is their a pond in the training grounds? Ooooo! Creeping Jenny! A sneaky gal!

“Don’t let your guard down, bud!” You heard Bucky charge at your from behind, a wall of roses sprawled an inch from your back.

“The only things down are my serotonin levels, Buck!” Making a sharp turn, you lunged and dragged your hand across the spotty ground, making a semi circle around where Bucky had to slow down. Even though he tried to jump out of the way with those good, good reflexes, you anticipated him. Three roots pulled him back into a sort of hug with their buckeye tree. One caught him on his waist, his still people hand, and his left leg. “Get it? It’s a both a pun on your name and the one I made earlier.”

“You’re a clever little shit.”

“Yeah I am, you can easily break that so I’m gonna bounce and have you catch up with me in a sec but I just got one more question.” He looked confused. “Who the fuck names their kid after the most irrelevant president?” And with that, you straight bounced out of their. Meaning a shit load of bamboo shoots punctured through the ground and shot you in the air. Your curled yourself into a ball while zooming through the air and felt something soft and fuzzy wrap around you. You felt yourself land but it didn’t hurt. You relaxed your muscles and realized you were covered in Lamb’s Ear and under you was a round patch of Irish Moss. So soft! You gave them both a little squeeze before getting up and going into a sprint. You heard a familiar ‘woosh’ noise and quickly phased into a nearby tree. Red and Blue were heading your way, and fast. Better think faster! You were pushed back through the air, your back bending and until your feet hit the surface of a another tree across from the original one. The motion caused the white glimmers of energy that you focused on to form into a cluster of bengal clockvine. Of course, Spidey would be able to sense this coming, so your only option was to overwhelm him with numbers. The entirety of the 2 trees you moved between and the space in between were saturated by a mass of thin green vines, leaves, and purple trumpet shaped flowers.

“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO N-“ he was almost able to avoid them, which was extremely impressive. His foot got caught on the top, making him trip in the air, and slam back onto the opposite side of the wall. You climbed around and jumped onto a branch a few feet away that gave you a good look at your handy work. The boy was literally upside down.

“Oh look, a spider in my web! You doing okay there? I almost didn’t catch you, kiddo!”

“Yep! I’m fine, nothing wrong here!” He groaned.

“Where’s the suit at, kid?”

“I’ll never tell! No snitches in MY Avengers!”

“Good looking out. Barnes is probably on his way, tell him I said sorry about the puns when you get out!” The branch bent and lowered you to the ground, you ran as you waved bye to the kid.

Alright...now if I was a suit worth more than my life, where would I be? You saw dark clouds rolling in at a strangely quick pace. Probably trying to fight a literal god to prove a point, yeah that sounds about right. Grand entrance time!

You slowed down to halt and scooped up a handful of dirt, squeezing it against your bare palm. You felt the ground shake under your boots, cracks pooled through the dry soil. Your hand felt the prickle of dull needles as your eyes saw the world spin. With loud, gnarly cracks, you stood near the top of a Sugar Pine, you estimated roughly about 200 feet tall. You could’ve made it taller, or manifested a different species of tree entirely. But you didn’t want to waste all your energy on being showy. Only waste SOME of your energy of being showy! Good plan.

You stayed still as the roots...uproot. It was less like the pine was walking and more like it was slithering. The roots acted like snakes, but the snakes were carrying a 2 liter container of water...or something similar to that. For most people, they’d be freaking the hell out, but you were accustomed to this. In fact, you barely held on, there wasn’t a point in being nervous about this. Is it weird that I’m less bothered by this than being really close to a one-eyed god? Eh, probably not, right? You felt the air chill around you and shivered, but it wasn’t unpleasant. The feeling of soft electricity hit you first, then the voices faded in.

“Come on, Stark! You can be faster than that, even if that’s just an empty shell!”

“Hey! My suits are not empty, I’ve got AI in there! You better watch yourself, pretty boy!”

“Aw, that’s sweet, you think I’m pretty?” Thor taunted.

“Am I interrupting something? Should I come back later?” You shouted. 4 explosives locked on and fired toward you. “Whoops!” You dropped down and let a lower branch catch you, the top part of the pine was blown off and on fire. These were just the baby bullets. He was going easy on you. “Well damn, if you’ve already got the wine out, I might as well stay for a glass!”

“Dumb one-liners are my thing, Justin Timberlake.” This will truly be a battle of puns.

“Sorry to steal your game, rich boy.” The branch flung you up into the air. The suit aimed its palm at you, radiating with energy. And just before it was able to lock on to you, gravity was getting ready to pull you back down. You had essentially done a flip in the air and were nearly hovering over the Iron Man suit. Human eyes meeting robotic ones. You let the dirt in your hand go. The granules slipped from your fingers and trickled over the suit.

In that moment, you realize some things. First, Tony was controlling the suit, not letting one of his AI’s handle it as he earlier suggested. Next, there were at least a few gaps in THIS suit, not totally airtight. Finally, that pun he made was really good and you’re gonna have to think for a little bit to find a comeback. The suit reacted to what you did.

“Did you just throw dirt at my suit? You’re cleaning this!” You landed on a Lawson cypress that was only about 150 feet tall. Damn, am I getting tired already?

“Oh that shit’s never coming out.” You called with a smirk on your face. It was faint but you could see some green peeking out around where the joints in the suit would be. It’s arm twitched.

“What the hell did you do?” Tony’s voice was starting to sound crackly.

“Just a little gardening!” You sang. “Sheet moss is really good for covering almost any material, and is super soft too!” The suit started to convulse. “Sorry for hacking into your system with literal dirt. Imagine if that were someone’s intestines, gross right?” The lights went out and it began to fall. You whistled as it went. You looked back at Thor who was gripping Stormbreaker. “Think he’s gonna make me pay for that?”

“Doubtfully. Stark is a complicated man but he’s not heartless.”

“Good, didn’t think he would be. So...wanna do a quick round? You barely got to match with the suit before I spoiled your fun.” You moved your hand softly, making the branch you stood on raise and move closer to Thor until you were only a foot apart.

“I don’t want to fight you, even in training.”

“Why not? Is it because I’m a gentle little flower?” You teased. That’s what most people thought of you but you didn’t blame them. Your powers were more defensive than offensive.

“Quite the opposite, actually. You scare me a bit. I know when to pick and choose my battles.” He snickered. “I’d rather fight someone who can beat me in strength than someone who can outsmart me. Though, either impressive.”

“I mean, yeah, you ARE a god with superior strength and intelligence...isn’t that you thing?”

“Ah, you flatter me.”

“I THINK YOU MEAN FLATTEN!” You hardly had time to register the voice of Spidey before the cypress beneath you started to bend into a cocoon around your body. You couldn’t move but felt yourself get hit and thrown back.

You weren’t sure how long you were in the air for but you sure felt the landing. Your body rattled against the wooden shell, feeling dizzy and your head aching from what might have been a mild concussion. The cypress faded into specs of light absorbed into the air. Your muscles strained as you attempted to sit back up, but what you saw horrified you.

“What the hell…” Chrome blinded you with the mid afternoon sun, making the site serene in a grotesque manner. You weren’t sure how much of the crime lay before you but that didn’t manner. Coated in a metallic sheen were at least a dozen of what looked like Green Ashes and two stationary, humanoid figures.

Mouths were open in a silent scream, arms outstretched. Their metallurgic layer almost looking ghostly. You sat motionless for a few moments and drank in the scene. Adrenaline boiling. Then you came to your senses.

“Fix it! I can fix it! Fix it…” You tried your hardest to break through your fears and generate all the power you had left in your system. Push it back, I just need to push the particles back and do it fast enough for them to not react. Simple stuff! You slammed your hands into the cold earth and imagined your energy flowing back into it. It would be like a defibrillator shock on a dead corpse. Your body felt lighter and more weak, something was definitely happening.

But you saw nothing. Your tried again, and again, more energy, more violently, until your hands shank into the ground just to TRY and make something happen. The metal was spreading, it was still a few feet away from you. It was slow if anything else. You felt no life in this area, despite all the blades of grass and trees in front of you. Everything coated was dead, or so close that it almost didn’t matter. Your head ached and begged for you to stop. But you had to do something.

“Y/N? Where are you? Are you hurt?” An accented voice called out, but you didn’t have the strength to answer. Trap it, I can trap this patch until we find a way to contain it and reverse it. Grass scraped under a quiet but firm step. “Do you need medical-“ but he was cut short by what he saw.

With trembling hands, your nails scratched into the soil, your body screamed in pain. You had never exerted this much energy before, you never needed to.

“Just trap it, hold it, trap it, hold it, make it stop.” A few dozen stalks of white bark stained with grey patches erupted around the patch of land, shifting all the natural trees back. Yellow leaves sprouted quickly and dotted the sky from what you could see. They were unnaturally close together and made somewhat of a dome shape but that’s exactly what you needed. Something dense that would save time. A strong hand gripped your shoulder.

“Can you hear me? I’ve been calling out to you-“

“Pando, the trembling giant. They share a root system so I’ll be able to have it circulate a little longer than it’s supposed to. I can’t push it back.” You had panic in your heart but a numbness in your brain. The voice was quieter than before but it didn’t sound intentional.

“We need to get back to the others-“ your mind cut something out. “Just hold on, I can-“ your eyes shut, you something support your back and behind your knees. “We’ll find him.”

[notapaladin]

put your lighter in the air (and lead me back home)

Did someone order an angsty Teomitl sickfic?? Because that’s what I’m putting out! In which Teomitl has a bad cold and worse self-worth issues feeding off each other, but Acatl appears to make at least one of them better.

Also on AO3!

-

It starts with a nightmare, and that’s why it takes him so long to realize something’s wrong. Since the very first time he met his sister in Zoquipan—since the first time he nodded at her smile and agreed that yes, he deserved the crown and he deserved it now—he’s had too many nightmares.

This time, he’s in the courtyard in the woman’s quarters. There’s a bit of relief in that; at least he won’t be seeing Chalchiuhnenetl’s cold smile in his mind’s eye tonight. As he shifts his weight, there’s enough resistance against the movement that he looks down to see lake water sloshing over the tops of his sandals. It’s red and salty, and he knows why. He can feel the crack of bone and the horrible bursting liquid of some internal organ in his own mouth as his ahuitzotls feast. They are so, so hungry. His own stomach roils. In the edges of his awareness, the palace is crumbling.

Acatl stands within arm’s reach. He’s pleading with him—he can see his mouth moving, read the anguish in his face like an open codex—but no sound reaches Teomitl’s ears. His head is full of blood and poison and his sister’s creaky, singsong voice telling him just what he has to do.

Instead of spinning on his heel and adding kinslaying to his crimes, he takes that one step forward.

Acatl’s head falls like a stalk of young corn. So, a moment later, does his body.

“No!”

Mihmatini’s voice, screaming. Where did she come from? It doesn’t matter, because she’s here now, just in time to see her brother die and know who killed him. And she is furious.

He can’t stop her. He doesn’t even want to. He’s just killed Acatl with his own hands, and he knows what he deserves. When he lifts his chin Mihmatini’s blade slides under his jaw like a kiss, and the last thing he sees is his own blood spraying across her face.

He jolts awake so abruptly that there’s still a sob caught in his throat. His breath hitches, hard and painful, and comes out in a raw gasp that turns into a cough. The brightly painted walls of his sleeping chambers are shadows in the moonlight; it must be after midnight, but everything still feels sticky from the earlier rains. Just a dream. Just a dream. I set my sword down that day, I did, it was a dream...

Movement by his side, and a voice he knows. It’s less frantic now. “Teomitl!?”

Ah. He’s woken Mihmatini. It makes him feel even more terrible, remembering all that blood, and for a moment he thinks he’s going to be sick. She’d hated him so much. He swallows it down and curls himself into a fetal position, squeezing his eyes closed. Something cold slithers through his gut; when he tries to talk, he almost chokes on another half-swallowed cough. “’M awake.”

“You were having a nightmare.” She lays a cool hand on his brow, and he exhales. That’s right. They are friends again. She doesn’t hate him anymore, if she ever did in the first place; that she’s here by his side instead of sleeping at the other end of the Duality House proves that. Her voice is soft, and the way she pets his forehead is softer still. “Gods, you’re warm.”

“Mhm.” It’s not me, he wants to say; it’s the room. Now that he’s conscious, his head feels stuffy and he can’t quite get the words out.

She pats him. He feels a little like a puppy, but not in a bad way; it reminds him again that she loves him, no matter that he doesn’t deserve it at all. “How do you feel?”

“Ngh.” Oh, right, she’ll want words. “Tired,” he mumbles.

He can’t see her face in the dark, but he can hear the comforting smile in her voice. “...Go back to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

He does not feel better in the morning. If anything, he feels worse; the pressure in his head makes his sinus cavities feel like they’ve been packed with mortar, and his limbs feel as though they aren’t properly connected to his body. Everything feels slow and floaty in a horribly disorienting way. When he makes his devotions to the gods, it takes real effort to keep his hands steady and not cut too deeply. Food is out of the question. He picks at his fruit and barely touches his porridge, and he normally likes porridge. Now, it’s sitting too heavily in his stomach.

Mihmatini notices, of course. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing.” It’s a lie, and he’d promised himself he’d never lie to her again, never keep secrets from her—but really, it is nothing. He’s felt so much worse than this before. It’s certain to be just a cold, nothing like the knife-edge pain of when the plague nearly took him. He can sit upright, and his vision is barely blurry at all. He makes himself eat a few more pieces of fruit to prove it.

His wife looks singularly unconvinced. “If you say so.”

The rest of the day is somewhat of a blur. He has meetings with the rest of the war council to discuss the tribute they’re due from far-flung provinces. He sees Quenami from a distance and is too exhausted to even muster up his usual seething fury. He spends a lot of time sitting down. His skin feels like it’s stretched too tightly over his skull when he blinks, and once or twice he misjudges the width of a doorway or the angle of a corner hard enough to raise bruises. Somewhere in the middle of that comes lunch, but he can’t say what he’s actually putting into his mouth. It all tastes like mud, anyway.

By the time he gets home, he has a screaming headache and wants nothing more than to collapse. He’s never been so aware of the inside of his own skull. Sleep, he thinks fuzzily. I need sleep. But as he steps into his own courtyard, he finds it already occupied.

Acatl is grave and sharp-edged, but those edges soften when their eyes meet. The man he loves is almost smiling, and at any other time it would lighten his heart. “Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” His voice sounds strange in his ears, as though he’s speaking underwater. He clears his throat until something shifts and he can add almost normally, “I thought you were busy with a funeral.”

That smile fades, replaced by the faintly wrinkled brow that is Acatl’s base expression. At least it doesn’t bear the particular scrunch that means he’s annoyed, merely faintly puzzled. “Mihmatini invited me for dinner. Don’t you remember?”

Teomitl feels his face grow warm. Well, warmer. That conversation was last week, and it’s slipped his mind entirely. “Right. Let me just...wash up.”

Cold water helps, though perhaps it’s too cold; he’s still shivering when he sits down with Mihmatini and Acatl to a meal of grilled frogs and amaranth dough. At any other time, he would have devoured it; now, though his stomach growls, he finds it doesn’t appeal to him. His wife and her brother are talking more or less around him—about their jobs, about their family, about how Ollin is running now and Necalli is sure to become a fine warrior if he continues to apply himself—and where he’d normally direct the conversation, he finds himself drifting. He wants to close his eyes. Acatl’s shoulder looks so wonderfully solid, a perfect place to rest his head...

He snaps himself out of it with a jerk. No. He is fine.

“Teo?” Mihmatini sets her skewer down, frowning at him.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing,” he mutters. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed early.”

As he gets up and trudges off to his quarters, he misses the look Acatl and Mihmatini share.

He’s asleep before his head even hits the mat, but his sleep is not restful. His dreams are shattered, disjointed things—beasts of shadow, Tizoc with blood on his hands, his men screaming and dying in the valleys of Meztitlan while he sounds a treasonous retreat. He jolts awake, trembling, only for exhaustion to pull him back under. He drifts in darkness, semi-aware for a moment—are those footsteps he hears?—but he can only resist for so long.

When he opens his eyes, he’s back in the courtyard. If he was lucid he’d be downright bored of it; since he’s not, he feels like paper-thin skin wrapped around a core of ice and sick horror. Again he’s too late to help, too late to do anything but make it so much worse. An ahuitzotl’s corpse lies gutted on top of Moquihuix-Coatl’s withered body, and Mihmatini is holding her own bleeding hand. There is blood at his feet and on his hands and spilling across the floor in a veritable lake, and he can’t move. He can’t move. He can only watch, frozen, as his mouth moves and words come out.

He can’t hear the words. They don’t matter, anyway. What does matter is that he’s saying them to Mihmatini and Acatl, and as he speaks Mihmatini’s face twists into a snarl of rage. She’s the one to charge him first.

No. It hammers against his ribs like a heartbeat. No, no, no—

As his mind screams denial, his sword sinks into her ribs. It’s a brutal hacking motion, the sort of thing they train you out of doing in real battle because it’s nearly useless on a man with armor and a shield, but his wife is all softness and fluttering fabric and there is already blood on her clothes. It cleaves through her arm and into her body with as much resistance as the air, and she crumbles around it with a horrible wrenching cry.

“Good,” says his sister from behind him. She is smiling. “Now for the other one.”

That’s right, there’s one foe left. His body obeys. He takes one step forward—over his wife’s corpse—and another, and another.

Acatl does not move. He doesn’t have to. His eyes are voids and his skin black glass stretched over bones like silver, and as the magic flows out of him Teomitl knows his death is coming. Knows it and welcomes it. It’s all he deserves now.

Pain—pain—he can’t breathe, his throat is too tight, he can’t—

He wakes coughing so hard that he thinks his throat is going to tear its way free from his body. His chest aches and his lungs are a mass of agony, but he can’t even focus himself long enough to dedicate it to the gods. He reels into a more or less upright seat, still hacking up what feels like an entire lung, and retches for air until finally an indrawn breath comes cleanly. His heart is racing; dizzy and shaken, he has to collapse back on the mat again.

“Teomitl!”

“Acatl?” He didn’t even hear the man come in. He rolls over towards the direction of his voice, wedging one eye open. The sun’s long since gone down completely, but in the light thrown by the moon and a single guttering torch he can make out Acatl’s bone-white sandals and the rippling fall of his gray cloak.

“I knew you weren’t feeling well,” Acatl mutters, and takes the few steps into the room necessary to kneel by his side. The movement is more careful and precise than his usual wont, and it takes Teomitl by surprise until he realizes the man is carrying something in both hands. He can’t make out what it is, and in any case he isn’t really looking; most of his attention is taken up by Acatl’s face, which is tight with worry. “How long have you been coughing like that?”

He makes a face. “Mngh.”

Clearly, that’s not a good enough answer. Acatl’s frown deepens. “Mihmatini’s gone for a healer.”

Oh. That’s not good. He works his jaw for a moment, takes a breath—it tickles, but he doesn’t cough—and mutters, “She didn’t have to...”

Acatl scoffs. “Of course she did. You look awful, and you barely ate at dinner.” He sets down what he’s holding, which proves to be a bowl of the vegetable-and-maize based soup Teomitl usually avoids as too hot for his liking. Right now he suspects it’s the only thing he can taste. Acatl’s a wonderful and considerate man; though he deserves him even less than he does Mihmatini, remembering that he’s cared for warms his heart.

But that doesn’t mean he can eat the soup. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry.”

Acatl’s eyes narrow. “...Eat something anyway.” Then he hesitates, looks Teomitl over again, and asks, “Please?”

It’s the please that does it. Sitting up again is the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life, but he manages it somehow and picks up the bowl of soup without fumbling. The heat of it soaks into his skin through the clay, and as he holds it he feels more...real. Solid. Present in the world. Since it also makes him aware that his head and chest are both throbbing, he doesn’t especially like it. He stares down at the pale maize kernels, the swollen red-orange tomatoes, the chopped pieces of chili, and tries to imagine putting any of it in his actual mouth. He knows it will please Acatl if he does, but he can’t bring himself to lift it to his lips.

Acatl doesn’t push him, at least not yet, but what actually comes out of his mouth is so much worse. “You sounded like you were having a nightmare earlier.”

He closes his eyes. It doesn’t help; he can see horrors painted on the insides of each lid. I promised myself I wouldn’t lie to you. I promised. Still, speaking of it makes his gut twist, and it takes a long moment before he can find any words. “...I’m used to it,” he mutters. “It’s only the courtyard again, anyway.”

Acatl stiffens immediately. “...The courtyard?...Again?”

He’s said too much. “It’s—”

“Don’t tell me it’s nothing.”

He drops his gaze to his hands and his untouched bowl. “...Truly, it’s nothing.” It has to be nothing. It has to be. They are only dreams, after all, no matter how badly he’s starting to shake. “I know there’s no need for apologies between us. But—” He sucks in a harsh breath and coughs again, grimacing as he clears his throat. It would have been so easy. So easy. “I guess it’s hard for me to remember that.”

Acatl makes a sound. Teomitl doesn’t look up; he can’t bear to see the pity he knows must be in the man’s gaze. “Oh, Teomitl.”

“I—” He’s breathing too fast, and now it’s sent him into another fit of racking coughs. His fingers tighten on the bowl, hot broth slapping at his skin, but he barely notices the sting. The more important part is that he can hardly breathe. Finally he gets his breath back and snarls, “I am fine.” Or tries to snarl, at any rate—it comes out more like a whine. He hates it.

The rustle suggests Acatl’s folded his arms across his chest. There’s an edge to his voice. “You don’t sound fine. Perhaps you’ll feel better if you eat something—”

His head snaps up. In the shadows, Acatl’s eyes are voids like they were in his nightmares, but the frisson of fear is drowned out by a hot spike of anger. He will not be pitied. It’s only a cold. Acatl has better things, more important things, to waste his valuable time on. “I don’t need you to look after me!”

“Someone has to!” Acatl snaps, gesturing furiously. His hands are trembling.

Teomitl shakes his head, grimacing when the motion makes him dizzy. “It’s just a cold—”

“What if it isn’t? Do you think I’ve forgotten the plague?!”

No, he doesn’t think that. Nobody could possibly forget the plague; there are mornings he wakes trembling like a beaten dog, mind still full of cobwebby nightmares all featuring Acatl’s face slack in death. In the worst ones, it is Mihmatini’s weeping that tells him before he even rouses from the grip of that vile pestilence. But that’s passed—that has passed, it is over, they are both perfectly well again—and so in his waking life he normally refuses to dwell upon it. Normally. But Acatl’s voice is full of anguish, and his heart cracks to hear it. “Gnh—”

“I love you, I—” Acatl abruptly shuts his mouth, turning a shade of red Teomitl has never seen on him.

“...You what.” It comes out flat and hard and sharp as obsidian with his own shock, but he can’t control the tone of his voice when it’s a miracle he can speak at all. It’s a miracle he can even think. He wonders for a moment if he might actually pass out; Acatl’s words are humming through his veins until there surely can’t be any room for blood.

For a moment he thinks Acatl won’t answer, but then the man takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and meets his gaze. “I don’t believe I stuttered.”

“You.” He feels like his stomach’s been ripped out. “You really...no. You can’t. Not after all I—” Not after the courtyard and the blood. Not after my sister. Not after the way I treated you, and you even gave me maize cakes as though I—as though I didn’t almost—

The nightmares—the memories—are all too fresh in his mind. Tears sting his eyes and blur his vision; he has to fight to keep his breathing even. Something in his lungs is making a rasping noise and he forces himself to take shallow breaths, because he knows that if he starts hyperventilating he’ll have another coughing fit. His skin feels like it’s on fire, and he can’t tell if it’s from sickness or shame.

And then hands cover his own, cool in comparison. “I do.” Acatl shifts closer, voice turning into something tender that nevertheless stabs Teomitl in the heart. “I told you already, haven’t I? I forgave you for all that long ago. And even then, I loved you.”

“I—” He’s not going to cry into his soup. He is not. He refuses. But when he squeezes his eyes shut, tears leak out anyway.

Lips press themselves gently to his forehead, his eyelids, both cheeks. When Acatl speaks, his voice melts the lump in Teomitl’s throat until he can breathe again; as he sucks in a noisy breath, Acatl murmurs, “I love you. I do. You don’t have to hide from me.”

He can’t speak. Words are entirely beyond him. He knows he has blood now, because it’s roaring in his ears until he can’t hear anything else but the echo of Acatl’s voice. I love you. I love you.

Acatl grips his hands a little tighter. “Eat your soup. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

He takes a breath; he can still do that, though his throat aches in a way that reminds him Acatl is right about him being ill. Perhaps—since Acatl loves him—he can take the man’s advice. It’s never led him wrong before. “Kiss me properly, and I will.”

Eventually, he does get around to eating his soup.

[greedy-insanity]

To The Edge (A Stranger Things Harringove Oneshot)

Open to criticism again, for anyone who wants to give it! I had a little bit of trouble with this piece, but at least its legible. Also posted on Wattpad, AO3, and Fanfiction.net.

Title: To The Edge

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove

Warnings: mention of sex, abuse, depression-like symptoms if you squint

Wordcount: 1,963

The covers radiated warmth, twisted from their earlier activities. Steve was on his back, one hand propped behind his head as he caught his breath. The body next to him was unbearably warm, but Steve couldn’t imagine trying to detangle himself from the arm around his waist. However, the sweat beading at his brow proved he would have to detach Billy sooner than he wanted. The room they were in was stuffy, with the window drapes drawn together haphazardly.

There was more than one secret was in that room that night.

“I love you.” Steve could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks when he broke the silence. He couldn’t believe himself. He didn't know why he said that. It was a heat of the moment thing, he thought. Steve could feel the awkwardness in the air, and turned to look at Billy, who was curled into his side. Billy’s eyes were glued on him, blue and unblinkingly. Steve swallowed, his mouth dry. “What?”

Billy’s pink tongue darted out, swiping over his lips. Steve stared, warmth flooding over him.

“It’s nothing,” Billy said, reaching over and cupping Steve’s neck with a hand. He pulled Steve closer, tucking Steve away from the world under his chin. Steve’s hair moved when Billy exhaled, and Steve wanted nothing more than to lay there, basking in comfort, knowing he was wanted. He loved- no, craved- those moments. But, he also couldn’t shake the feeling off. Something was wrong. It was never nothing with Billy.

Steve sat up, pulling away from Billy and his warmth. The covers pooled around Steve’s waist. The room wasn’t very warm anymore. It was stifling.

“B, what?” Steve hoped to coax Billy into answering with his nickname. He waited patiently, fiddling with the covers. He would wait as long as it took for Billy.

Billy had rolled to his back to stare blankly at the ceiling. He didn’t seem like he was going to say anything anytime soon. Or he was trapped inside of himself, overthinking and antagonizing his actions. Steve continued in a softer tone, his hands now knotted in the blankets. “Really. What’s wrong?”

Billy sat up as well, the blankets pooling around his more defined body. Steve watched, captivated by the man in front of him, as Billy gently clasped Steve’s right hand in his own. Billy was so careful, as though worried being too rough would break Steve. Which was the complete opposite from earlier.

Billy’s thumbpad brushed over Steve’s inner wrist, bringing Steve back to the present. Flat, black ink decorated his skin, the last words his soulmate would say illustrated. What does it cost? Steve could feel the pit of terror growing in his stomach, something that always happened when he read those words. He wouldn’t know the happiest time of his life until they were over, and it had slipped through his desperate, helpless fingers.

“Wonder what they wanted to buy.” Billy’s face didn’t match his solemn tone. Billy brushed over the skin again, reading over the words again. “Maybe a condom?”

Steve smiled, despite the dirty humor. Whatever was bothering Billy couldn’t be that bad if he still had his mind in the gutter. “Gross, man!” Steve pulled his wrist out of Billy’s hold, hyper aware of how Billy’s shoulders had slumped. Steve searched for something else to say, something that would pull Billy back. “I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“What do you mean by that?” Billy worked each syllable through his teeth, voice dipping low as his blue eyes darkened. Steve shivered, looking at his hands instead of the intense gaze. His cheeks burned. He fiddled with a patch of skin on the back of his hand, mouth dry.

“Sorry,” Steve murmured, shrinking in on himself. He scratched a little harder at the skin, watching it redden. “Sorry.”

“You think I’m your soulmate or some shit?” Billy continued as though Steve didn’t say anything. Steve wanted to crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment. That was too much, too soon. He had screwed up. Nancy was right. He was bullshit. He didn’t know anything.

“I don’t…” Steve’s voice cracked. He tried again, feeling as though he was digging himself a deeper grave. The back of his hand was burning. “I don’t see why it isn't possible.”

“No way!” Billy laughed coldly, running one hand through his messy hair. Steve watched, transfixed, as Billy shifted from the guy-of-the-present to the guy-of-the-past. The mean grin on his face and the coldness in his eyes were painfully familiar. They reminded Steve of a worse time. “Not me.”

“Why not?” Steve winced at the whine in his voice, his chest tightening. His nail dug painfully into the skin of his hand, close to drawing blood. He was edging towards something dangerous. If he wasn’t careful, he would fall. He didn’t know what was at the bottom. He didn’t want to know.

Steve looked at Billy, locking his gaze with those impossibly blue eyes. The emotions he had before, the soft and relaxed state, were long gone. Steve’s stomach turned.

“How could you know that?” Steve didn’t realize his mistake until after he said that, mouth dry and chest tight.

Billy jumped off the edge. Steve could only watch the aftermath, mouth open.

“Because, Steve!” Billy was a storm, his hands waving around. His face was red and he pulled at the bracelets around his wrist. He revealed a new patch of skin Steve never saw before, black ink raised over long tracks that went from one side to the other. Steve was taken back by the pure fury that Billy had on his face. He was so focused on Billy’s face that he didn’t look at his wrist. “I know that because of this! You think you have such a sad life, but you don’t even have a clue, Steve! I can’t do this anymore.”

Steve flinched when Billy thrust his hand out towards Steve, showing Steve the writing. Steve attempted to read it, eyes tearing up. He rubbed a hand over his face, skin wet with.

“Why are you crying?” Billy’s voice was heavy with a tone Steve was unfamiliar with. Steve took a deep breath, hoping to calm himself down. His chest shuddered, his shaking hands wrapped around him shoulders.

Steve tried to answer, but all he could do was shake his head. He was so confused. He didn’t know why he was crying. He didn’t know what Billy’s wrist said. He was sure that, if he said anything else now, he would fall off the edge. He was sure that he would follow Billy down, and be unable to climb back up again.

“Read it, Steve.” Billy held his wrist out to Steve again, his knees pulled up to his chest. His head was resting on them, blue eyes only half-open. Steve wiped at his face again, gently taking Billy’s hand to stop the shaking. Billy was always like a rock, sure of himself. He never seemed to be affected. So seeing Billy fall apart was eye-opening and world shaking.

Steve brushed a thumb over Billy’s inner wrist, mirroring Billy’s action only minutes earlier. He blinked once, then again. A flat, black tattoo was written in the same lettering as Steve’s, words plain but worrisome. Scars crossed out the words, but didn’t distort them.

“I… ‘I love you’,” Steve repeated. Billy pulled his hand back and curled in on himself. Steve watched, unable to believe his eyes, as Billy broke apart in front of him. His face was slick with tears, and he clutched his wrist to his chest. He held so much pain for one man- no, this was a boy with a man’s burden. An impossible burden.

Steve reached out to touch Billy- touch his hands, his shoulders, his face- but Billy flinched away before Steve could even make contact. He had turned his face away from Steve, miserable, shameful, angry.

Steve was starting to put together the pieces, why Billy insisted on keeping everyone at arm’s length. To live with the pain, to know what the last words of your soulmate’s would be, it was terrifying and cruel. No one in that room wanted to lose another person, nor each other. Yet the world was intent on ripping them apart.

Steve leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Billy. Billy unfolded slowly, clutching at Steve and burying his face in Steve’s neck. Tears stuck to Steve’s skin, warm and wet.

“We’ll figure something out.” Steve hoped that he sounded confident, because his hands were shaking and his heart was fluttering. Billy pulled back from Steve, parroting the words back to him in a cruel voice.

“Is that all you have to say?” Steve knew that Billy’s frustration would transform into mean words and hateful glares and explosive punches. That was just a fraction of Billy, a gateway to the person-of-the-past. Yet enough of that Billy was here, in that bed, that Steve couldn’t stop that flinch when Billy’s voice rose. Steve’s stomach flipped, his palms sweaty. “Why don’t you-”

“Billy,” Steve interrupted, clasping his hands together. His nails dug into his skin, urging him to continue before he lost what little nerve he had gathered. “We’ll do this together. You and me.”

Steve could feel his courage fraying every second that passed. Billy was just fucking staring at him, eyes dark and hair bunched at the base of his neck. Steve could only think about how in that moment, Billy was like a storm. He was wild and free and a torrent, lashing out in loud noise and violent thunder. Steve didn’t want to run, though. He wanted the rain to wash over him, soak him, and the thunder to rattle his bones. He wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.

He didn’t know if he was Billy’s soulmate or the other way around or whatever god damn way the world put it. He only knew that he loved this boy. He loved the boy with the passionate heart and angry eyes. He was unpredictable and playful and had the emotions of a roller coaster. And Steve was loving every fucking second of it.

Billy hadn’t answered Steve after his declaration. His mouth curled, and Steve knew he had convinced Billy. Billy was usually a quick spit-fire, always having a comeback ready. To render Billy speechless was a victory, in it’s own way.

“Shut up,” Billy mumbled, but his words didn’t have any real heat. Steve chuckled, allowing Billy to pull him close for a kiss, then ran a hand through his hair. Billy had a genuine smile on his face now, face still tinted red. “I think I’m in love with you, Harrington.”

Steve grinned back, unable to help himself. He knew how much saying that meant from Billy. He was risking everything for Steve, and Steve didn’t want to let him down. “A little slow on the uptake, aren’t you, Hargrove?”

Billy grunted, ruffling Steve’s hair before settling into the bed. Steve ducked away, pulling the covers to his chin and pressing himself back against Billy’s chest. He could feel Billy’s heartbeat, steady and reassuring. No matter what happened, they could rely on each other.  

“Goodnight.” Steve paused, pursing his lips before continuing. “Love you.”

Steve could feel Billy staring at him, eyes burning a hole into the back of his head. Steve’s ears burned, and he pulled the covers tighter around him. Had he been wrong to say that? Steve could feel the doubt bubbling in his mind. Maybe it had been too soon-

“Yeah.” Steve was holding his breath, the steady beat of Billy’s heart increasing at his back. But, Billy had already climbed back up from the cliff, pulling them both from the edge. “Love you too.”